Chapter 8: Venom Versus Brawn

“You think you are safe inside your high cities, grown fat and complacent. When your walls topple and your innocents are stripped to bone by the millions, you will know your error.”

-High Lady Shlthszr of the Ever-Hungry, 141 U.E.

Maz lunged the moment the fight commenced, swiping with sharpened claws. Crawlin backed away, narrowly avoided the attack, and circled around his opponent.

“Maz is taking an aggressive stance!” Darling said over the farshout. “It looks like she’s invested some evo into hag claws, so she’ll be trying to get close and nick Crawlin with the venom. He’s got the range on her with those switchbacks, though, so it seems like a questionable strategy…”

Crawlin must have thought the same, because he unfolded the blades from his arms with a pair of sharp flicks and went after the lubbard. He pressed her back with alternating swipes, always keeping one arm back to guard.

Yin yawned. These fighters clearly had a decent level of experience, but their base ability was simply weak, their movements sluggish. She could have beaten either of them with one arm tied behind her back.

Maz dodged each of Crawlin’s blows with minimal effort, the two in perfect rhythm. She sidestepped one last swipe, Crawlin extending a fraction too far, and Maz grinned with malice. She gripped the man’s extended arm with both of hers and pulled the blade sharply sideways. With a sickening crack that could be heard all the way to the stage, the length of sharpened bone caved, bent in its socket.

Crawlin roared with pain and pushed himself free. He stumbled back, prodding the injury, testing viability. Teeth clenched, he realigned the blade, blood trickling from his elbow.

“Maz has drawn first blood!” Darling screeched. “Crawlin got reckless, and now he’s paying the price! I wonder if that switchback is even usable at this point.”

Amaline clutched Yin’s arm, fingers frozen stiff. “It’s okay,” she said, “don’t worry, Yin. It’s only a game.” It sounded like she was trying to comfort herself more than anything.

While Crawlin recovered, Maz raised her hand towards him. A handful of arrowhead scales shot out of her arm like fired from a gun. Crawlin was unable to dodge, and the sharpened keratin pierced his flesh in a dozen places.

Crawlin’s face screwed up with pain. His guard faltered, the auto-eye hovering around him for some dramatic shots.

“Things are not looking good for Crawlin!” Darling said. “This match might already be coming to its bitter conclusion.”

Crawlin righted himself. He flicked a few of the scales free, taking his time as Maz circled around him like a hungry wolf. Bringing the pain under control, his face grew neutral. Maz shot off a few more scales, but he sidestepped successfully this time.

“Looks like he’s still got some fight in him—that’s what we like to see! He’s wisened up to that loaded snakemail trick she’s pulling, but how is he going to retaliate?”

Maz moved first. She sprinted at Crawlin, claws splayed, face lit up with glee. Crawlin caught one of her swipes on his undamaged blade, directing the force away from him, and folded it back into his arm. Maz’s hand was caught in the middle, bone cutting into keratin. She tried to pull it back, but her hand was stuck.

Now Crawlin was the one smiling.

He jabbed with the other switchback, going for the lubbard’s heart. She blocked with her free hand, the blade impaling her palm and going through the other side. Maz cried out, and Crawlin gritted his teeth as his damaged switchback wobbled in its socket, but neither faltered. Locked in close combat, they maneuvered to get an advantage—Crawlin pushing with his superior size and strength, Maz diverting his center of gravity with deft footwork to keep him off balance.

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“My, my, my! What an upset!” Darling shouted, speakers squealing. “It looks like Crawlin has leveled the playing field! Who will come out on top?”

Maz slipped, and Crawlin pulled her towards him. He planted his feet firmly in the sand and heaved, muscles bulging. He lifted her into the air, roaring, and dropped her back down. Mid-air, several scales sprayed out from Maz’s trapped wrist. They missed by a wide margin, burying themselves into the concrete barrier, but the reduced surface area of her wrist allowed her to slip out of the switchback’s grip. Snapping the second blade at the base, she fell free, rolling away when she hit the ground.

“Idiot!” Yin cried, throwing her hands up. “You had her right there!”

Crawlin clutched at the bleeding slot in his wrist where the switchback had been fitted. Maz got to her knees and pulled the broken blade out of her hand.

“Why isn’t he moving? He’s still got a shot to take her out while she’s down.”

“Because he can’t,” Stephan said, eyes on the game. “His aura’s severely weakened. He’s on his last leg.”

“How is that possible? He’s a bit banged up, sure, but…”

“Maz’s venom. I assume not only her claws, but also her scales are coated in it. Crawlin has started to feel its effects.”

“Does he still have a chance?” Amaline asked.

“Maz has taken some heavy damage, and the more of those scales she uses, the more she’s compromising her own defense. If Crawlin uses his remaining strength strategically, he might have a shot. That’s probably why he’s letting her come to him—to conserve energy.”

Maz rose to her feet but kept her distance. She unhinged her jaw and opened her mouth wide. Throwing her head forward, she spat a glob of viscous liquid. Crawlin caught it on the flat of his remaining switchback and flicked it aside. The trail of smoke it left on the blade suggested that it was corrosive in nature.

Hissing with outrage at her failed trick, Maz paced forward. Crawlin guarded with the switchback, but the tip of his weapon was shaking, unsteady. When the lubbard got close, he tested a swing to keep her at bay. She ducked under it, body coiled, and—

Crawlin drove his knee into her gut with a crack like a gunshot, fast as anything Yin could accomplish. Maz was thrown back from the force, rolling to a stop some two meters away. Curling into a tight ball, she puked bloody bile onto the sand.

“What a move!” Darling cried, dangling from his scuttler by one foot, a hand over his forehead like a fainting lady. “Such power can only mean one thing, folks! It looks like Crawlin installed rubber-band joints in his legs, a secret weapon for one final move!”

“What does that mean?” Yin asked, frowning.

“I’m not familiar with the concept,” Stephan said, “but based on its name and what we just saw, I have an idea. A modification that allows a joint to lock back so that it is under tension. When released, the limb snaps forward, dealing additional damage.”

“Go, Rath Crawlin!” Amaline shouted, joining a chorus of voices chanting the man’s name. “You can do it!”

Crawlin staggered. Frowning, he lifted his undamaged left arm. The skin had been scraped open, four bleeding lines down his forearm.

“Oh no…” Amaline gasped, hands over her mouth.

“It seems she landed a hit of her own,” Stephan said.

Crawlin sank to one knee. His arms shuddered, face contorted. One leg scrabbled at the sand, but he was unable to stand. Pushing himself too hard, he fell onto all fours.

Maz straightened, systematically prodding at her bruising stomach. She rolled onto her back and sat up, wincing the whole way, and made it onto her feet from there. Stumbling, nearly bent double, bile dripping from her chin, she advanced.

Crawlin could only watch. His gaze became faraway, contemplating, calculating. Then he raised one badly shaking arm, three fingers extended.

“Crawlin has forfeited the match!” Darling announced. “Maz ‘Needles’ Ivicc is our winner!”

The stadium came alive with noise, half cheers and half jeers. Already, money was changing hands.

Maz did not stop, however. Features bundled with rage, she closed the last few steps between her and Crawlin.

“Coward!” she yelled in strained Elandran. “Fight! We are not done!”

Crawlin’s hand remained where it was.

Maz grabbed the man by the neck, claws piercing the skin. She lifted his face up to hers. “Fight, or I kill you!” she spat.

“Uh, Maz!” Darling said, voice rising an octave. “The fight’s over! You already won!”

Maz tossed Crawlin on his back. Unable to get up, the man simply lay there and stared up at her. Unsatisfied, Maz collected the fallen switchback blade and held it high, staggering towards him.

“Security!” Darling screeched. “Someone! Subdue her—she’s gone mad!”