CHAPTER ONE – INTRODUCTIONS
Year 6993 ST (settled time)
Blinders Arena, Twoya
“It was nice of your old friend Harold, to give us quarters for the week.”
Teum has his back to Luscin when he responds, “He certainly has the room. The last time I was there, he and his wife were raising six kids. Now with them on their own and him not on the road with the caravan their home feels empty.”
Luscin is watching her shirtless husband don his Defender blacks and reflects on their introduction. She was surprised to find out they’d already met. Her memory of that meeting was another casualty of Dorson Milnor’s past mental manipulation. When Malo healed her, all he could do was erase the false memories, allowing her to remember what was true and real, he was not able to restore memories that were destroyed.
Shaking off the morbs and already dressed she gets to enjoy the show of his chiseled body sliding into his tight pants and shirt.
Speaking to his broad back, “I’m not saying this is a bad plan… but are you sure this is the right place for it?”
“This is exactly the right place. Master Black Hill taught us a good dose of propaganda, or a targeted disinformation campaign can tip the outcome of a battle before it starts. We’re no longer students, we should remind them of that fact.
“We’re going to remind those losers that we wiped the floor with them once and we’re going to do it again.”
Luscin teases, “Are you sure you’re not doing this to re-brand yourself? Is this your redemption arc?”
Whatever his reply was, Luscin missed it. The sudden crowd noise and blaring amplified voices signaled the current match had been decided.
A knock on the door and rough voice followed closely after, “You two are up in less than five. Get set for your entrance.”
The two young Defenders take a last look at the private dressing room allocated to Teum and head towards the entry ramp to await their introductions.
Moments after they round the corner to the entry ramp, a child-sized figure, dressed in a ill-fitted maintenance workers coveralls, goes to the adjacent room, and slips inside.
Following silently behind the figure is Radara-San, Luscin and Teum’s manager.
She peers through the door using her gift and watches as the small man takes a seat and does nothing.
The youngster appeared to be a stalker at first. He’s been following Luscin and Teum everywhere. His youthful appearance belies his obvious training. Those two are no slouches when it comes to situational awareness and she’s certain they’ve not picked up on him.
She herself may not have noticed if not for a chance interaction from more than a week ago.
She was exiting her office in El Hat before the three departed for Twoya by train. The youth was entering the building and held the door for her.
When he passed by, a wave of cold washed through her. Not cold like a breeze or the sudden temperature drop when someone gathers ambient thermals. This was a shiver of cold running through her spirit.
Thinking she was under attack she hurried outside while shielding her mind. But the fleeting sensation was gone as fast as it onset.
Sending a decoy of Radara-San down the sidewalk, a now invisible Master Adara leaps to the rooftop, not taking her eyes off the mysterious figure.
Gazing through the building walls, floors, and ceilings, she observed the youngster take up position in a room above her office, where he has the same view of Luscin and Teum’s apartment as she does. All he does is sit and wait.
Now more than a week later, he must have taken the same train or had a faster mode of travel as he was in Twoya the same night as they. She’s spotted him dozens of times in the last week. If he’s an assassin, he’s patient.
With her two clients safely in the middle of a battle arena engaged in a possible death match she can confront the mysterious little man without worry.
Radara-San taps on the door twice before turning the knob and swinging it slowly inward with a nudge.
The young man doesn’t respond, other than to look up at her standing in the doorway. Evaluating his features, she realizes she’s met the sloppily dressed youngsters before.
Using her study master voice, “Sammy?”
Not acknowledging her inquiry, he pulls back a sleeve and raises a bracer clad forearm parallel before his eyes.
Radar-San recognizes the dragon scale, also called meta-obsidian bracer for what it is and isn’t concerned.
The youth looks her up and down twice before lowering his arm, and speaking, “You should come in and close the door.”
Standing up from the low backed stool, with the grooming station at his back, “Where did you learn that name?”
Radara-San enters and closes the door with her foot, not taking her eyes off the youth, “I heard your crew name you. You of course gave me a different name at the time, I believe you claimed the name Alfie.”
The young man looks troubled and uses the bracer to pierce the illusionary image of Radara-San once again.
“I don’t recognize either of you. What do you know of my crew?”
“You know they use those same bracers at all the competition venues. To continue concealing my identity I have to adorn two disguises now or give up on this one.
“The image of Radar-San is how I’m seen publicly. I cannot drop it, so to justify wearing it. I use make-up to appear deformed as you saw. Thanks to the warped view granted by those bracers, it doesn’t take much to make me look hideous. When a guard sees what the illusion is hiding, they feel bad for me and say nothing.
“I hope that clears up why you do not recognize me. I am Master Vania Adara of Mammatus Study and you are the little boy that tried to escort me down an ally to be mugged by your enterprising friends.”
This is the best revelation Sammy could have hoped to hear. Luscin stood up to the Hag of Thuma, this is the woman that killed her.
“I didn’t get a chance to thank you before; we were being punished for running that side job. I was locked in a cell wondering what was going to happen to us when you left.”
Bowing his head in deference, “I thank you Master Adara, I am forever in your debt.”
“You’re welcome Sammy, the citizenry of Thuma have given thanks enough, you owe me nothing.”
Master Adara is appalled that a five-year-old would get locked in a cell, when his only crime was acting as bait in an assault and robbery attempt.
Masking her anger, “I’m glad to see you are out and free. I presume the family has chosen to forgive you?”
“The family doesn’t forgive. They make you atone for your transgression and then they forget it ever happened. The ringleader wasn’t given the option of atonement, she’s another Alfie and was punished. She didn’t survive it; Father does nothing halfway.
“This is in fact the last of my assignments for me to end my parole. Upon completion, I’ll once again be able to gain status within the family.”
“This job, does it concern my client Fighter-Fox or my colleague Luscin?”
“Luscin. I have a package to give her. It’s from Father.”
“May I see this package?”
“You can, but don’t open it… and brace yourself.”
Perplexed by the vague warning, Vania watches as Sammy reaches into his hassock and pulls out a large, fat envelope. Shoulders slumped as if weighted down, he held the envelope out to Master Adara.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
Master Vania Adara, Dean of Sight and Sound at Mammatus Study gazes with enhanced senses upon the envelope in front of her. A frozen spike pierces her spirit, the sensation is far more intense than the first encounter.
Suppressing the urge to vomit, she gasps, “Put that away!”
Sammy doesn’t have to be told twice, quickly he places it back inside his hassock.
“I had this bag made before I left Thuma. It’s lined with a mesh of silver wire. I don’t know why but it makes that thing less nauseating.”
Feeling better once the package is out of sight, “You seem to deal with it well.”
“It doesn’t affect me as much, I’m not as gifted as you, so I don’t feel it as intensely… and I’ve gotten accustomed to the feeling over time.”
“I believe I know what that is, I’ve only heard of their existence, I’ve never experienced one. Can you confirm what that is?”
“It’s something that’s supposed to give Luscin immunity from the Blood Empire.”
“Then it is what I suspected, you may deliver it to Luscin,” to herself she adds, “I may not allow her to keep it.”
Putting off dealing with the contents of Sammy’s hassock until later, “Would you like to wait here alone or accompany me and watch the match?”
“I don’t have a ticket, where would we sit?”
“If you have decent clothes under that custodian costume you can join me ringside.”
Sammy unbuttons the front of the custodian overalls and climbs out of them. Stuffing the poor disguise in his bag his grin gets bigger by the moment. The prospect of watching Luscin fight while sitting next to Master Adara has him feeling giddy. With a spin and flourish of arms, he shows off his classic cut denim jeans and newly purchased grey t-shirt adorned with the name and silhouette of Fighter-Fox. Clamping his hassock under his left arm, “Let’s go!”
The amplified sound of their introduction is barely heard as the thunderous roar of sixty thousand attendees going wild. The match has been hyped for more than six months and the rumors about the two new fighters have ranged from weird to preposterous. The buildup has been a welcome distraction from the unsettling rumors of regime change and invasion spreading from the north.
Husband and wife look each other in the eyes and mouth the words, “Let’s go.”
Not bothering with their usual entrance walk, they come into the crowd dressed in black, with matching swords and bo staves across their backs. Knives on ankles and at their waist. They are dressed to kill.
The crowd is confused when they see the black clad duo appear. They were expecting the furtive jumps of Fighter-Fox and the stalking movement of Dragon Hunter. While many have not seen either duelist, their actions have been well documented.
Walking in lockstep, Teum has shortened his stride, while Luscin speeds hers. Each step draining energy from the crowd, bringing the noise down to a sea of murmured remarks and questions. They stop a quarter of the way from center ring. The crowd divided between expectant and furtive, the most impatient check the day’s program and find no enlightenment.
Teum boosts his voice to the same booming level of the amped announcer, his words roll over the near silent crowd, “Last year we were asked to defend a town from invasion. The invaders purchased the services of a pair of cut-rate duelists to take us out. We vanquished them easily, and now they’ve asked for a rematch.
“We fought them as defenders, duty bound to protect those in need. These arena battles are the antithesis of duty and Defender Teum Fox does not dual in arenas!”
Teum hardens his body and pumps kinetic energy into his muscles, his trained and hardened skeletal structure perfectly molded for the transition. He seemed to grow by a few inches while his shoulders broadened, his already tight shirt begins tearing at the seams.
Grabbing the front, he rips it open revealing his bare chest adorned only by a dragon tooth necklace, “That’s why the re-match will be against the Dragon Hunter!”
The crowd cheers enthusiastically, not quite to the previous levels, but the people are only now realizing this is part of the show.
Teum kicks his torn shirt and drops his prop weapons to the side and holds an arm out to Luscin.
When the cheers start to soften, Teum shouts, “This is a tag-team match, I present to you, my fighting partner and wife… Fighterrrrr-Fox!”
Luscin takes to the air and floats to the center of the ring, where her little bobs go unnoticed to all but the most attentive.
Reaching the center of the arena in only a few seconds, she holds her arms up and out dramatically and begins to spin, slowly at first, speeding up on each rotation.
She becomes a blur and then there’s a flash of light, followed by the crack of metallic thunder and a column of light reaching down to the center of the ring.
The stunned crowd needs a second to realize she’s no longer flying. There in the center ring is the fully costumed Fighter-Fox, complete with her long fur-lined orange jacket and iconic fox ears.
The crowd resumes its initial frenzy as Teum joins her in a single bound covering the twenty yards that had separated them.
Grabbing her hand in support and shouting unenhanced to be heard over the roaring crowd, “Are you sure you have to spin around like that for real? You could have just orchestrated an illusion.”
“Half this audience would see through cheap theatrics. They came here to see the real deal, not a light show.”
“Ok, but I don’t like it. Squeeze my hand twice when you’re ready to walk.”
The building stopped spinning in Luscin’s mind before the crowd’s enthusiasm waned. Two squeezes and they start their march to their corner.
Being the junior team, they were introduced first. It was now the challengers turn to make an entrance.
The announcer resumes introductions, “After years of attending the greatest fighting study’s and learning from the masters of our time, this fighter spent a decade in the distant northern continent, where he learned the secret fighting techniques know only to the Dragon Priests.”
As the announcer spun his intro, an assault force of ninety-six soldiers marches double time into the arena and form twelve lines, eight men deep. All identically armored head to toe in black polished leather armor, with faces concealed behind black and white, checkered scarves.
The amplified announcers voice continues, “Now he shares his hard-fought knowledge by dispatching his opponents for your pleasure.
Marching in lockstep to the arena center, the precisely drilled soldiers split into two groups, half turning left and half turning right. Now there are four lines of twelve marching to opposite sides of the arena.
“His astounding record of 283 victories out of 302 battles, ranks him 7th overall in the World Dueling Association.”
Foot falls in perfect unison. At some unheard signal they stop and perform a synchronized about-face. Both groups take a half step to their right. Then without missing a beat, they march rapidly towards one another, twelve across.
The audience gasps as the two groups are about to collide, then cheer when they realize the half step misaligned them and the two groups pass through one another.
Reaching the opposite side, each group once again splits into groups consisting of four lines of six and turn to separate corners.
Now all four groups march, each starting on a different beat and converging in the center of the arena. Perfectly timed the four groups pass through one another once again without collision.
When the four groups part, a lone figure is left standing in the center.
Removing his scarf reveals the iconic eyewear of Perfect Technique.
Executing a series of warmup moves in the exacting way that defines his persona he halts precisely when the announcer resumes, “This isssss Perrrrrfect!”
The crowd used to the routine finish his name enthusiastically shouting, “Tech-nique!”
Appreciative applause follows as Perfect Techniques entourage once again march in lockstep, this time with added space between marchers they meet in the middle and merge into the original block of ninety-six and make a hasty exit as the noise of the crowd wanes.
While the crowd momentum was on their side, Machine Master made his entry. A 10-yard long, massive object concealed by a tarp, barely fitting through the covered entryway rolls out. Stagehands in high-visibility vests and hard hats clear the way ahead and follow from the rear.
The announcer begins his narrative, “Born of a family of blacksmiths, forging metal is as natural as breathing. Using his family’s proprietary techniques, he forged his first battle-suit when he was a mere six-year-old prodigy.”
Clear of the tunnel they take up station on the massive object’s flanks. The crowd goes silent, awaiting the biggest machine ever rolled out by Machine Master.
The announcer continues, “Turning twelve, he embarked on his journey and traveled the world over as a professional duelist.”
Upon reaching Perfect Technique in the arena center, the stagehands go to work under the tarp and reemerge with four large metal wheels.
“After joining the World Dueling Association his impressive record of 72-24, with the highest percentage of wins by fatality he is ranked in 35th overall and is one of the most feared combatants of our time.”
Watching for a signal, the stagehands allow Perfect Technique to determine when to continue. Judging his timing he gives the signal before the crowd becomes too impatient.
Two stagehands in the rear, not clutching wheels grab the rear corners of the tarp and yank it free in one gift enhanced motion.
Another signal from Perfect Technique dismisses the crew, who hurry off with wheels and a now bunched up tarp. Left behind is a smooth shiny metal contraption the size of a steam powered locomotive.
The crowd falls silent once again, this time they know what to expect.
Someone, somewhere starts up the chant, “Mah-Sheen … Mah-Sheen … Mah-Sheen!”
The crowd quickly picks it up until with a shiver, the massive device begins to move, turning the chant back into cheers and applause.
Simultaneously, four articulated limbs unfold. The limbs lift the device off the ground like a giant headless animal. The forward end sinks inward before a section flips around revealing a giant humanoid head. The torso telescopes making it shorter, the entire device is now proportioned like a human and shows it has the articulation to stand up on two legs.
Towering at eight yards and raising massive arms skyward the armor-plated humanoid device bellows in a sonorous and metallic voice, “I AM MACHINE MASTER!”
Teum and Luscin, feeling shown up realize they still have a lot to learn about making an entrance.
The two groups meet in the middle of the fighting ring, defined by fifty square-yards of stone pavers. A pair of referees join them, and they quickly go over the rules.
The referee speaks quickly, “This is a tag team match, where only one member of each team is allowed in the ring at a time. Tag-ins are allowed at any time. Once tagged out, all combat by or against the combatant must stop. Failure to do so will result in a foul. A loss is assessed if a combatant leaves the ring without tagging out or if they touch the ceiling or otherwise deemed unfit to continue. Fouls can be assessed for two-men in the ring, engaging an opponent outside of the ring, or interfering with a referee. Three fouls will disqualify a team from winning.”
With glances to all four fighters, “Any questions?”
Nobody speaks up, he finishes with, “Return to your corners and wait for the bell.”
The opponents return to their respective corners and prepare.
Teum looks to his wife, “Are you sure you want to take on Machine Master? This is far more than his lightning fists of the last fight.”
“I’m certain. Now that I know how he thinks, I’ll take that machine apart.
“Literally, I’m going to disassemble it and shove the parts up his...”
Interrupting, Teum concedes “Ok, have it your way.”
“How are you going to handle mister perfect over there?”
“He shed his goofy costume and is wearing armor now. I think he expects to get hit. I’m going to make him realize he didn’t go far enough.”