Drunkamori

Akamori squinted at the trio of very large hyper muscled brutes in front of him. He swayed side to side as the big oaf shouted stuff at the crowd. To which they seemed to respond in kind. He just wanted to know why… why? Why had he come up here again?

The big guy clapped a meaty hand down on Akamori’s wrist and swung him into the ring. Akamori spun horizontally and a burst of air righted him back to his feet as he swayed with a suspicious expression. Hands shooting out in a defensive posture. The crowd cheered as the match began; Akamori was completely oblivious to the fact.

The meat head elf closed in, melon sized fists soaring for his face. Akamori leaned back, observing the paw of a hand up close. It blurred between two and three of itself. After the first swing, the big man paused hesitantly, watching Akamori. He’d leaned back almost comically in a manner that didn’t seem physically viable.

Capitalizing on the moment of lapse in the man’s guard, Akamori surged forward and struck the man rapidly multiple times in the torso. The blows weren’t heavy, but the constant flow forced him to stagger off balance. Once the big guy realized he wasn’t at risk of a one hit knock out, his confidence returned in a surge as he flexed and stepped into Akamori’s strikes. The massive elf drew his hand back, and it hammered forward towards Akamori.

The blow didn’t land frustratingly enough. At the moment of impact, Akamori twisted himself out of the way. The intoxicated spell soldier rolled with the momentum of the blow, falling back and tumbling in a reverse roll to pop back on his feet, swaying again.

“Kick his ass, Carden!” someone in the crowd shouted.

Akamori squinted at the big man. So. His name is Carmen, is it? Maybe that’s why Carmen was trying to beat him up. He’d be mad if he had a girl’s name, too. He squinted at the crowd of Carmen’s. Why were there so many?

“H-hey.” Akamori stammered. “Tell your sisters to step back so I can finish with the first one!” He shouted, biting back a few interruptive hiccups.

“Why you little shi-” Carden started before he was torn from his feet by an air tendril. The bulky elf crashed down into the floor with a heavy thud. Looking like a sweaty mass of roiling muscles and abs, he quickly scrambled upright.

Akamori leaned over to the fence and snatched a glass from someone’s hand with a tendril of air, snapping it up to drink.

“It looks like the redhead has time for a drink! But where did he get those moves?”

Carden advanced, throwing a flurry of blows. Akamori melted around the man’s hands like wind blowing around a building. Carden grew frustrated and headbutt Akamori using his light magic to heal his injuries at the same time. Akamori snapped backwards, bouncing off the ground and whipping back upright.

Akamori responded by lunging forward to punch, tripping over Carden’s foot, and snapping his back foot up like a scorpion tail to smash into the elf’s nose. Bone and cartilage cracked and blood geysered from his crushed nose. Carden’s mouth was covered in his blood now.

“I’m going to skin you alive by hand!” The big man roared, frustrated at what was supposed to have been an easy win, being so difficult to finish.

“That sounds rather graphic.” Akamori said.

Carden lunged again, this time a fist roared into his stomach, powered by an ominously powerful and domineering void aura. Air rushed out of Carden’s lungs as he struggled for air. Instinctively channeling his light magic to heal, his nose snapped itself back into place on its own.

“Carmen… Carmen. Listen. I don’t remember why I’m up here. Help me out?”

Carden’s face went red with rage. He stomped forward and snatched Akamori up in one of his massive meaty paws.

“My. Name. Is. Carden.” He growled.

Akamori’s eyes flashed violet, and a sinister and powerful aura erupted from him. His hand lanced out and struck the soft tissue under the big man’s arm, causing temporary numbness and tingling. Thanks to Carden’s beefy muscle mass, the blow wasn’t completely effective, but it loosened his grip, allowing Akamori to slip free. Once out of Carden’s grip, the crimson-haired drunk swayed back a few steps.

Carden found himself in a precarious position. He’d selected the man because he’d spotted the soldier swaying on his stool. Carden didn’t expect picking a fight with someone so powerful. Where had all that power come from?

“Carmen,” Akamori slurred again and Carden forcefully bit back his anger. He eyed the drunk man down. How could he win this match? “Tell your sishters to shtay out of this,” the drunk said, stumbling a step as he pointed out to invisible people.

Carden growled, lumbering forward and throw several swings that would have shattered bone. Akamori dodged each attack frustratingly well. Carden rammed an elbow into the man’s stomach and he just seemed to glide slowly off the blow like he was floating. Carden saw void and air magic, both being channeled. Akamori toppled to the floor of the fighting pit in a snoring heap.

Everyone laughed at Akamori’s expense, but he was fast asleep, snoring. Confused and extremely cautious, Carden approached, expecting anything. Akamori’s booze induced slumber persisted. “Go on Big C! Finish him!” someone in the crowd cheered.

Injecting steel back into his resolve, Carden marched forward, bringing his foot down to stomp on the man’s chest. Akamori threw himself to his side, curled up and resting his head on an arm and sucked his other thumb. Still fast asleep. Perplexed and annoyed, Carden stomped again. And again. Like a meaty piston, his foot crashed down into the cage floor, eventually cracking the stone.

With each stomp, Akamori rolled over, or shifted just enough to avoid the attack. Eventually he sat upright, his head crashing into Carden’s, who’d leaned down to investigate the man closer. Carden stumbling back, cursing into his hand, tears moistening his eyes. Akamori pointed and laughed. “You fell for my surprise attack.”

Stolen story; please report.

Carden wasn’t 100% certain Akamori was bluffing. But the degree to which he was responding to threats made Carden concerned. He needed to resolve this quickly. Akamori rolled over and stood up like a shaky toddler learning to stand for the first time, arms pinwheeling for balance as he staggered about. Then he launched into motion, limbs shooting out to strike Carden with a force he didn’t think possible from the man.

Carden blocked and parried as best he could, but the smaller man was deceptively strong. Definitely punching well beyond his weight class. Carden had Fire, Earth, and Light infusions and a naturally maxed strength stat. He was at the peak of mortal strength. That this man was putting his back to the wall spoke volumes of the danger he posed.

Akamori however, was a hot bottle of mess. Packing over 6 infusions with two of them being void. None of which was easy to discern through his messy, drunk aura. The drunken soldier swayed in for another attack, the duo trading blows, blocks, and parries. Carden’s movements were rigid but strong. Akamori’s movements were erratic and fluid. He moved like he didn’t even have bones in his body and was compelled by pure will.

Something sinister about Akamori compelled Carden that maybe he’d bitten off more than he could chew. Carden forced his way at the cage’s gate and used his impressive strength to rip off the door. Bar bouncers moved to intercept him. Akamori pressed the attack from behind. The raucous interior soon devolved into a large scale bar fight that the squad casually watched from the countertop.

“Should we go get him?” Sala asked.

Yasiin and Amara shook their heads and smirked at each other’s response.

“Nah. He can clearly handle himself in there. Not sure how or why, though.”

“He might be a drunken master?” Sirsir volunteered.

“You can’t be serious?” Amara asked.

The massive chocolate skinned noncom shrugged. “All I know is that sometimes every so often ya hear stories about soldiers or warriors who train their bodies so hard the body remembers even when the mind doesn’t. Moves automatically.”

Amara frowned and nodded. “Okay, yeah. That tracks.”

“It does?” Yasiin asked.

“Yeah. His father had him training as a young kid long before he was mature enough to take the rites and get his first infusion. He struggled back then, and it frustrated him. Day in and out while the rest of us got to play outside, he was working, training, or sparring with his father.”

Sirsir nodded approvingly. “I never wanted to admit it to his face, gods knows he doesn’t need any ego inflating as it is. But I always thought he took the training slow. But once he had something, he had it. And the way he adapts what he sees used against him in his own way.” Sirsir shook his head. “That’s some scarey shit, man.”

Amara smiled wanly, remembering home fondly as Akamori thrashed several drunk patrons. The announcer scrambled to clear the melee. Akamori rolled out of the chaos and swayed back to his feet, taking several shuffling steps laterally before advancing back into the fray.

Sirsir chuckled, pointing at the mass of bodies striking and blocking and moving around. “Think that big knucklehead had any idea what he was getting into pickin’ a fight with the eltee like that?”

“Oh, absolutely not. No clue at all.” Yasiin laughed. “The real question is, how brown are his pants?”

Amara and Sirsir blinked in confusion, but Sala laughed. “That captain won’t like us gettin into this scuffle none. She’ll be upset about the breach of decorum.” Sirsir mused softly. Yasiin and Amara both patted him on the shoulder.

“The Captain.” Morwen said, approaching them from the door before giving the chaos in the bar’s front a casual half amused look, then taking a seat where Akamori had been seated. “Would like to have a drink and unwind some herself. There’s a lot of dead to salute.”

“I think Akamori has been doing a lot of saluting already.” Sala chuckled nervously.

Akamori howled a war cry flying over the heads of the crown and landing on some poor soul who flailed, trying to dislodge him. “So I see Sala.” She didn’t catch the way Sala brightened at her comment. “Two to one odds Akamori beats the lot of them.”

Amara shook her head. “I know a bad bet when I hear one. But… I’ll see you that and raise you one better. They’ll all somehow be best friends come dawn.”

Morwen’s brow raised curiously. “Deal.” Morwen said, shaking Amara’s hand. Sirsir’s jaw all but fell off his face. He gave Morwen a scandalized look. “What? A gal has to have fun somehow.”

“But can’t you just zone out and see the future? Seems kinda unfair.”

Morwen gave him an assenting nod. “I could if I wanted. But I’ve avoided using it non tactically for now until I get a firmer grasp of how to make the best use of it.”

Sirsir nodded. “Makes sense.”

The fighting progressively thinned out with more on the ground groaning in pain and clutching a limb or their face. Some rocked back and forth gently. None stood save Akamori who stood in their midst triumphant.

“And the winner of the King of the Ring is um… What is your name, sir?”

“Drunkamori.” The squad chanted from the bar with snickering grins. The announcer scratched his head and shrugged. He’d go with it. “Drunkamori it is.”

Akamori’s eyes flashed with void magic, and his posture and aura relaxed drastically before them. Shortly after that, he fell backwards onto the floor. “You all saw that, right?”

“The whole scarey eye flash thing? Yeah. Hard to miss.”

“I’ll go check and see if he’s ok.” Amara stood from her stool and tiptoed around those passed out on the ground. Blood and booze mixed in various amounts on the ground. As she neared Akamori she found him sound asleep and shook her head.

“You’re full of surprises Shinjo.”

Sala approached from the bar and stooped down to help lift him up gently. They propped him up on the chair, head on the counter, fast asleep. It was going to be a long night.

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