Ratcatcher’s eyes widened as she saw the fist close to her jaw. Instead of blocking, she tried to dodge, hearing the fist pass over her shoulder, almost touching the cloth. The sand behind her moved, shifted by the air pressure created by her opponent.
Yeah, I’m not tanking any of that. The trainee decided and struck with her left. Her opponent, a Barjonis youth two years her senior, took the blow to his forearm, protecting his nose. And in doing so, the boy has opened himself wide for an attack. Ratcatcher never hoped to land the first blow; for all his tall stature and bulging muscles, the Barjoni had speed. What he lacked in the finesse and skill that could’ve made him a fighter too great to face, he more than made up for in sheer strength and speed.
When her left hand bounced off his wrist, she ducked and landed a heavy hook into his solar plexus, preparing to catch the teen when he collapsed. Instead, it was her knuckles that screamed in pain after she slammed her hand into the wall of muscles. She barely had time to curse Barjonis and their biological enhancements before the teen grabbed her wrist.
The trainee kicked, not in the hope of inflicting damage, but to free herself from his grasp. The loose skin inherited from her parents and the sliding fabric of her tracksuit had allowed her hand to slip free, and the Barjoni lunged after her, dropping low and preparing to grab her. She met the boy head on, kicking his head upward with a knee. It barely did any damage to him, not even enough to leave any bruises. But what it did do was expose his neck for the chokehold.
Victory is mine… She groaned and dropped to one knee like her opponent. A blow to the back of the head had both teens headbutting each other.
“Eat a dick!” Carlos laughed and ran aside.
In a blur, he stopped beside the mayor’s daughter and another Barjoni. The two were locked in their own brawl, but when Carlos’ fingers grabbed their faces, both found themselves spinning in the air. Without a hint of mercy, the trainee crashed both down to the crowd’s cheering.
“Ha! Native or…” Carlos burst from place, kicking another trainee in the belly. He held back his attack, but the blow still sent the poor boy back four steps, leaving him rolling on the floor, gasping for air. “…immigrant, or…” He spun in place, appearing behind the daughter of a mercenary leader. The girl never saw a cruel elbow blow that sent her face down into the sand. “…foreigner, it matters not! This Barjoni will never be defeated! I am perfection! I am superior! Cheer for me and be in awe of my skills and grace! Feel honored for having the rare right of witnessing the magnificent that is I in action! What’s my name?!” he shouted to the assembled crowd, basking in the light coming from the ceiling.
“Carlos!” some shouted.
“Asshole!” added others to the laughter of the Matriarch of the Barjoni Family.
“Sorry about Carlos,” Ratcatcher’s opponent said, and she darted back to avoid a swing. “He likes to make everything dramatic.”
“Tell me about it!” Ratcatcher laughed.
The Barjoni punched with his right, and she sidestepped his wide swing, slamming her fist beneath his ribs. She could have tried to hit the wall of the bunker with the same result. The boy didn’t even raise an eyebrow and tacked to his right, causing her to jump backwards to avoid being grabbed or thrown to the ground.
“Don’t you dare lose, Eliza!” She heard Liam yell from the stands.
“If you lose to this muscle head, no more treats for a week!” Joanna Vong’s roar was spiced with anger, and Ratcatcher understood why.
The eyes, groin, nostrils, ears, and even the neck of her opponent were wide open for a strike. When he was making his swing, she could’ve blinded him with a tail’s tip. Mom thought she was going easy on her opponent after taking down the two girls before. But it wasn’t true. She always fought seriously within the limits of the match. It didn’t matter if Barjonis’ medics could regenerate damage over a few weeks; here and now, she wasn’t going to win this fight by maiming her opponent. You are supposed to have fun at the New Year, and she was having fun!
Carlos rushed through the arena, dodging a grab from another trainee and shoving him into the embrace of another youth. His eyes were on Elina. But as he closed in on the girl from behind, she either read something in her opponent’s eyes or somehow sensed his approach and twisted her torso, snapping the fingers of both hands with enough force to create a crater several meters wide, exposing the shiny metal surface of the arena and pushing all the sand aside.
“Too slow!” Carlos teased, circling around Elina from the right side and knocking her opponent aside with a kick. He tapped Elina’s back, and as she began to turn, he became a blur. His form darted back and forth, hitting Elina again and again and making her reel, while he was chanting: “Way too slow! Can’t touch me, can’t touch me!” Elina’s body jerked left and right as the shadow passed by her, lifting sand in the air with sheer speed and hitting her with both fists and elbows.
“Damn it, stop going easy on me! I can take it!” Elina screamed, falling to one knee. A series of bruises grew on her neck and shoulders, but not one of Carlos’ blows landed on her face.
It was infuriating and humiliating. The teenager refused to hit any of the girls with full force. Where the boys who had the misfortune to meet him in combat ended up with broken noses and shattered teeth, Carson insisted on going easy on the girls. Even the ones he threw were already waking up, their faces free of any damage other than what they had done to themselves.
“Make me, make me, make me, Linny!” Carlos grabbed her by the armpits, sliding his hands in before Elina could react. In a single graceful move, the boy sent her cartwheeling into the air.
How did it come to this? Ratcatcher grinned, trying to comprehend the situation.
It all started when they arrived at the mansion. The Barjoni family didn’t cut short on their guard. At least several hundred bodyguards stood along the roads, and people in army uniforms patrolled the woods and hillsides, escorting the occasional drunken guest back to the white complex above. The mansion itself was drowning in luxury and opulence. The family flaunted their wealth, but in a way that created a beautiful landscape. Bridges of crystal and stone connected a series of buildings; gold embroidery in the shape of snakes lent a sense of calm to the otherwise frightening crimson walls, with green snake eyes of jade glittering in the night. Mechanical suits hovered above the crimson bastions, making routine fly-bys alongside drones.
Hanging gardens enveloped both bridges and walls, with rows of elegant statues standing above the walls. The mansion was not decorated in a single style; at least a dozen different artistic visions intertwined across its walls. Upon seeing it all, the trainee clenched her fists, imagining the stress her parents must’ve felt at the outsider’s looks.
When she met them, Ratcatcher breathed out with relief. Not only did her parents enjoy the party, but Liam even joined the trainees in a game, while Johatan and Joanna chatted with the parents of the other teens. Torosian had earned more attention than Ratcatcher could ever hope for, and joined his brother, the Mayor, and the Barjoni matriarch in toasting to the well-being of the country and the flourishing of peace among the Three Great Nations. Later, Osero slipped off to discuss the possible acquisition of energy weapons with one of the Barjonis.
There were some minor troubles, such as the lack of a sport outfit that would fit Ratcatcher’s form. While the teenager laughed it off and changed into more roomy clothes, the matriarch of the Barjoni family, a lithe woman wrapped in a white dress that covered her entire body and who used a large floating platform to get around, had issues a personal apology for the incident and invited Joanna and Johatan to her private abode for a talk.
Before the hour was over, Ratcatcher got herself a set of pristine and comfortable crimson tracksuits, along with skorts, skirts, pants, and shirts, all bearing the Barjoni family crest. The fabric was soft to the touch and light as a feather, fitting her body like a glove, and no matter what she did, it simply refused to rip.
She panicked and tried to refuse them, too afraid to even estimate the cost of making them, but the matriarch was relentless. As Carlos later explained to her, the family made a point of being good hosts. Their mansion was supposed to accommodate everyone and everything. Failure to do so infuriated the matriarch, and now the majordomo had to work overtime to update the guest logs. Upon hearing this, Ratcatcher found the man and apologized to him for all the trouble she had caused him tonight.
But the highlight of the New Year’s celebration wasn’t the fireworks, the exquisite food, or the crazy dancing. No, to her great shame and amazement, her father stole the show by making himself the talk of this assembly. Johatan overheard how Carlos’ father, a cold and distant man named Enrico, making some comments about raising children. The two got into a heated discussion, and before anyone could stop them, they ended up in the gymnasium, interrupting the trainees’ games. Mother and Ratcatcher tried to make excuses to the Matriarch, but the woman calmed them down and, with a single gesture, commenced the change in the hall.
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An arena appeared, and the guests took seats, preparing to observe how Johatan and Enrico would solve their differences. Carlos told Ratcatcher not to worry; the family considered it a bad sign if festivities ended without a proper brawl. Enrico had promised to go easy on Johatan, but in the end he had to break his promise after Dad jammed his claws through Enrico’s nostrils to Carlos’ delight. There was a reason why Johatan disliked drinking. It made him meaner and more outspoken. But tonight he was goaded into tasting the wine and repaid the favor in full, giving Carlos’ father the fight of his life. Eyes, groin, ears, neck, arteries in arms and legs... Nothing was off-limits to Seeker, and the elder Barjoni received more than one laceration across his body, spilling bright crimson on the arena floor.
Both men had beaten each other almost to the inch of their lives, with Enrico raising a triumphant fist at the end as Johatan collapsed with his snout broken. Enrico even made an offer to accept defeat after having to go in full force, but Seeker wanted to hear nothing of it. They left the area supporting each other, with the crowd cheering them on.
So, of course, everyone did the sensible thing! With the two fighters out, the rest surged into the arena. Ratcatcher wanted to loosen up, Elina wanted to test her mettle, Vasily was curious to see how long he could last, and Carlos... Well, he was Carlos. The teenager got a black tattoo of his family on his back, a snake winding in a circle and staring at his opponents, announced that he would dedicate his inevitable victory tonight to his family, and named himself the main “Black Knight” of the match. He alone wore no tracksuit or training clothes, parading around in his black pants and a belt.
Rowen initially wanted to sit out the fight, saying it would not be fair to him. But after hearing Carlos’ boast, the teenager asked the majordomo for a cheap coat, tore the sleeves off, and asked the house artists to paint the symbol of his homeland, a running rabbit, on his face. Then he sat at the edge of the arena for the duration of the game, his legs crossed, his hands on his knees, and his breathing calm. The sand followed the gestures of his fingers, lifting and forming a crown with the letters “Villains rule” above his head. When Vasily tried to sneak in and kick him out of the arena, it was Vasily who was lifted into the air by the telekinetic force and thrown aside.
And the arena descended into chaos! Hundreds of young people of all ages had come to test each other. As was customary, the fight was free for all, with their parents and siblings cheering from the seats above. The most interesting and successful fighters earned a brief spot on the giant displays above the arena, and Carlos tried his best to claim every second of that spotlight. The Barjonis paid little attention to physical damage; the Family had an extensive medical complex built beneath their mansion. But tall men and women, members of the Private Burial Brigade, a mercenary unit that worked exclusively for the Barjonis, were present on the field, passing by the fighters like ghosts. When they decided that a youth had had enough, or that the risk was too great, they always stepped in to break up a fight. Tonight, they had little to do. The trainees dominated the fight, and all of them were well enough trained not to maim an untrained opponent.
With that in mind, how do I take you down? Ratcatcher looked over her opponent. She couldn’t run forever; Carlos might drop by again. And neither can she take him down, fair and square. Maybe burst an eye drum with a finger… The girl remembered what Carlos had survived in the fight against Eight. Chances were this boy had the same biological enhancements. Besides, she didn’t want to hurt the nice boy.
She nodded and stepped forward as the boy struck again. Instead of mixing straight punches with wild swings to make himself somewhat unpredictable, the Barjoni stuck to straight punches, and she could respect that dedication. With a proper trainer, he would be divine in a few years. But for now, it made him predictable; he always stepped forward with the same leg as the arm with which he struck. Ratcatcher stood her ground, letting his fist almost connect with her jawline, and evaded to the right.
The road was open, and the eyes of her opponent grew wider when a hand grabbed him by the throat as she stepped closer to him. Ratcatcher’s leg and tail beat the youth’s right leg up; the combined force of two of her limbs was barely able to overpower his well-trained muscles, improved by the best bio-engineers money could buy. With her left hand on his throat, Ratcatcher grabbed the boy’s hip with her right and lifted him up, slamming him into the ground with all her might. The sand exploded in the air around them, and she slid off him, expecting to need to evade his grip. The boy followed with a kick. Even though she dodged the brink of it, the side of his foot had touched her left shoulder, and this nearly sent Ratcatcher into a spin.
I’m going to do some power lifting! She decided, ignoring the burning sensation in her left shoulder. A glancing hit, and her skin was already swelling. The Barjoni started to stand, and she greeted him with a knee to his jaw, throwing his head up. This time there was some swelling on the previously perfect skin, and Ratcatcher took advantage of his confusion, wrapping her legs around the boy’s waist and turning him face down, her arms around his neck in a chokehold. He rose to his knees and arms, coughed, and slapped the sand. Surprised, she let go of him and jumped away, expecting a grab, a punch, a kick, or something. The boy was strong enough to probably pop one of her arms by simply grabbing her, hold or no hold. But he was on his back again, making her worried that she might’ve hurt him somehow.
“You won, lady,” the Barjoni said. “I made a bet with Mom that I wouldn’t let my shoulder blades taste the ground tonight,” he explained to her confused face, putting both hands behind his head and admitting defeat.
“Oh, come on, the night’s still young!” Ratcatcher laughed and slapped the sand with her tail, sending a faint mist into the air. “Come at me for real! Use your grabs, your holds, your kicks and punches like there is no tomorrow!”
Augustus had once told them that you can’t grow without facing stronger opponents. And it was true! Sure, this Barjoni lacked skill and technique. But his strength eclipsed hers by far. Pitting herself against him, deliberately handicapping herself, exploring new ways of defeating an opponent without harming him... The thrill of the chance to hone her skills ran down her body, and Ratcatcher pressed her fists to her chest, wondering how she could persuade the boy to continue. She’ll even cheer for him!
“Weak!” They heard Carlos’ voice.
Then there is this asshole. She smiled. Carlos enjoyed playing the role of a bad guy a bit too much.
The youth stood in the middle of the arena, his arms outstretched, the light reflecting off the beads of sweat on his body. There was not a single bruise or swelling on him; his legs lay over a dozen falling opponents. In the blink of an eye, he crashed through the fighters, delivering kicks to the back of the legs or quick jabs to the jaws, timing each attack so that his opponents fell at the same time. The boy leaned back and pointed his index fingers at the ceiling, basking in the cheers and curses. He stood on the fallen foe, but Ratcatcher saw that Carlos didn’t put any of his weight on the coughing boy.
“This is how it’s done, Dad! Watch and learn! Untouched, unspoiled, perfection and calculation in every move! Look at me, all of you, and weep for your inadequacy!”
“Beat him up already, someone!” His older siblings exploded with rage, while Carlos’ mother put a hand to her face and struggled to hold back a smile. “Kick the shit out of that clown!”
“Thank you, thank you, sisters, brothers, cousins, nephews, and nieces, dearest. It warms my heart to see you in such good spirits. I love you all with all my soul.” Carlos bowed to them.
“That’s so sweet,” his younger sister said. “I feel bad for teasing him.”
“But do try to contain your envy; no one likes a sore loser. Don’t go hating on me for being better than you.”
“Bastard!”
This time, his mother could not suppress a laugh at her family’s hysterical rage. Something like warmth flashed in his father’s eyes as he sat next to his wife while the doctors worked on his body. With his one good arm, the elder Barjoni sipped red wine and breathed through his mouth.
Ratcatcher felt her skin tingle. It was a strange sensation, as if a weak electric current had passed through her skin without reaching her organs. Before she could even wonder what it was, a screeching sound caught her attention. The projectors on the ceiling were moving, turning and moving the light away from the cheerful Carlos.
“Enough,” a familiar voice said.
Rowen stood up and pointed with both hands at the fighters between him and Carlos. One by one, boys and girls were tossed into the air. The teen moved his fingers, raised his hands high above his head, and the captured teens started orbiting him like planets around the sun. With a calm and stoic face, Rowen began his advance.
“It is time to bring this contest to its appointed conclusion.” The light flashed the painted emblem of a rabbit in his face, no longer harmless, but a foreboding of defeat to come. “You have done well playing with the small fry, but there is only one strong one within this ring. Me. Surrender or suffer my wrath. I don’t care which.”
They are awesome. Ratcatcher thought, admiring the trainees’ power. Why does hers have to be so mundane and useless? I’d give my whole body for something as cool as that. One has super speed, and the other has telekinesis. What hope… She shook her head, banishing doubts. Do your best with the resources you have. What do I know? Carlos likes to show up and often speeds past the right side of his opponent. And Rowen uses his hands to help him direct his power; which is why Headmaster Torosian chastised him at a recent training session. How can I… She smirked at the idea. Vanity, predictability, and self-imposed limitations. She can work with it.
“Here goes nothing,” she mumbled, looking at the downed Barjoni. “Want to play a hero and help me beat up your cousin, nephew, kin, or however else you two are related?”
“Carlos? You needn’t ask, my lady; it would be my pleasure to wipe that smirk off his face.” He held out his hand to her. “The price for my help is a dance afterwards.”
“Will do, sir, but I warn you, your toes might hurt. I am a terrible dancer! All joking aside, let’s gather the others.” Ratcatcher gave him her paw-hand. The boy took it without hesitation. “I have a plan for how we can take our ‘villains’ down.”
“Rowen, Rowen, silly Rowen,” Carlos sighed. His smile turned into a predatory grin. “Stealing my spotlight? Drawing attention to yourself? Why hasten your inevitable defeat? Don’t you know snakes eat cute little wabbits?”
Rowen snapped his fingers, and the trainees around him flew aside, landing in the sand and rolling to avoid the oncoming battle between the two Abnormals. The trainee tugged at his collar, raising it high and stopping forty paces from his opponent.
“Your boastings and posturing nearly put me to sleep,” Rowen said. “But I suppose everyone should have one last show before they are splattered against a wall. Like a fly against the window of a speeding car.” Rowen raised his hand and pointed a finger at Carlos.