Warner Papadopoulos
Day 2
“Fuuuuck,” grunted Warner as he woke to a sore and achy body. He was feeling something close to a bad hangover on top of that. It made for a very unpleasant morning. “Or whatever you call it when you're in the middle of the damn earth…”
His attempt to recall anything before slumber simply resulted in a blur that stabbed at his head. The brawler growled while cradling his head and collapsed back down on the couch. The desire to return to sleep was strong, but between the pain and wakefulness, there was no chance for temporary oblivion. Carefully, like walking through the woods without crunching any leaves, Warner played back the blur.
The intensity of entering the tunnel returned to him. Remembering being thrilled at the prospect of monster hunting. How ready and prepared Warner had assumed himself to be in facing those monsters. It was beyond count how many times he had defeated grotesques and horrors. Everything had seemed so simple once you accepted that monsters were real here. Until the raw terror and revulsion at the sight of monsters that had taken him by surprise.
Warner had expected fear. There had always been fear in the fights before and he had gotten himself into many over the years.
At first, those fights had been for his own defense against bullies and their ilk. Fear had always been the strongest emotion then. It fueled him in those fights that happened. Extra fuel to prevent the worst from happening. After a while, and a growth spurt, the fear had dimmed as the scuffles transitioned into being something more offensive on his part.
For so long, that fear had just been in the back of his mind. A small reminder to be wary, but nothing more. Warner was smart enough to know that not everything could be fought with your fists or the intimidation of his size. In time he learned so many different ways to fight.
Eventually, whenever there was a struggle, he was drawn to participate. The brawler wasn’t sure why, perhaps it was those victories in his youth, or just in his nature all along. Regardless, Warner leaped into every fight he could find. That dedication meant he learned the tools needed to win them.
The fear never left him during any of it either.
Whispering to be careful and who shouldn’t be trusted. It became a reliable companion for Warner. Trusting what the fear communicated, navigated him out of trouble and even to victory. In protests, it saw when the crowds or police would go wrong. It predicted which politicians couldn’t be trusted and who should gain his support. Through the fear, he pulled off investigations that saw his power rise. That power Warner would then use to strengthen his sphere of influence to make the world a better place. His fear was a tool, a companion, and an anchor.
Because of this, the monsters had more of an impact than the brawler had anticipated. As the horde of rat things had charged him, the fear had turned on Warner for the first time in years. The mountainous man had been able to maintain his form in the fight, but it had felt like fighting underwater. Stiff, stuck with slow movements while gasping for breath.
Straining against the fear clawing at him, Warner was rattled. There was no way for him to perform at his best. That fact almost upset him more than the betrayal by his fear. He wasn’t so prideful as to be stupid about it. The brawler was aware that he would have still taken wounds. His pride instead insisted that without fear’s uprising, the fight would have gone a lot better for him. More of his strikes would have landed and less of his skin would have been torn.
Growling, he thought of how lithe Vincent had seemed on the battlefield. One of his last clear memories was of clenching angrily as the swordsman had charged successfully into the swarm alone. Even with the memory of Molly’s features after her mask had broken over him. That hadn’t been enough to soothe him. Warner burned even now at being outdone in his wheelhouse. As the pains of waking faded, the brawler decided he would find the man for a match. After all, we are going to need to do some training, thought Warner, a vicious grin blooming.
From the couch, he rose to a purpose. Whether enough time had passed or just the changes in his mindset, the headache had faded. Enough for him to ignore at least. As he was attempting to stand up an ash brunette suddenly appeared before him close enough to force him to sit back down on the couch. Blinking Warner thought, I think that was on purpose…
“Hello, I’m Vivian, how are you feeling?” asked the brunette, with an intense voice and her eyes clinically surveying.
Frankly feeling somehow a little intimidated by the motherly stare Warner responded, “Not bad ma’am, just a little sore and a headache.”
“Glad to hear it,” smiled Vivian, capturing his attention with a compassionate sparkle in her eyes. “Those that woke before you were experiencing similar after-effects. Though it seemed to rapidly fade once they got moving.”
“Yeah, the bite of those bastards did a number on us,” grimaced the brawler. “Good thing a rest seemed all we needed to get over it. The sixty just need some training to get over this hump.” He followed up his optimism with a boyish grin.
The woman was unaffected by the charm and frowned at him with a soft expression that made him wary.
In a serious tone, she explained, “All of you almost died. The wounds from the … “rat things” caused a hemophilia effect and another... I hesitate to call it blood poisoning… Not sure what else to call it though, but the result was all of you were sickened along with bleeding freely. If Clarissa hadn’t thought to use the screens to get some healing potions… I don’t believe any of you would have survived.”
Warner felt like he was smacked in the face by a cold wind. It never occurred to him that they would shave it that close to death in their first confrontation with a monster. A struggle was maybe all he had thought it could be. They hadn’t in reality fought monsters before, but his expectation had always been a rousing victory. A triumph over the rat things they had gotten, but the apparent backlash was beyond the pale.
We are not as ready for this… dungeon... as I had believed, worried Warner.
To Vivian, he said, “Then I owe Clarissa one for the save and you another since you’re keepin’ an eye on all of us.”
“None of you owe me anything,” replied Vivian quietly looking sickly at her hands to Warner’s confusion. “I did only as best as I could, which was little. Clarissa deserves your praise for her quick thinking.”
“That may be how ya feel, but you got involved when you didn’t need to,” replied Warner mildly. “I ain’t one to overlook a good deed. I’ll owe ya one until I decide it’s paid.”
Frowning, she replied, “If you insist.”
“I do. Uh… How’s Molly doing?”
“Molly...The tall skinny one?” questioned Vivian. At an affirming nod from him, she went on, “She left and I believe went to her room. The woman was muttering about reading. Which I assume to be in reference to the grimoire we got from the screens. A sentiment I fully understand in pursuit of my own magic. I’m glad you're feeling better Mr. Warner, I’ll be on my way then.”
“Just Warner, please.”
“Sorry about that, an old habit to keep distance,” reminisced Vivian. “No reason to be formal when we’re all in this together. Bye Warner.”
With that, the prim woman glided away. An Asian man slid from the shadows to prowl after her and gave Warner’s surprised face a grinning wink. The headache spiked for an instant in frustration at the man’s attitude and for successfully hiding his presence so close by.
Shrugging it off, the brawler moved away from the common area. He noted that Molly wasn’t the only one to recover before him, and it soothed him that he wasn’t the last either. Reuben and Phelian still were laid out on couches. The sword and dagger user fidgeted in his sleep and the brawler guessed he would be awakening soon enough. That the overeager kid would be last, didn’t surprise him any.
Among the stalls, he was waylaid from his aimless walk. Several members of the sixty came to him asking questions about the dungeon beyond the doors. Wryly, Warner noticed that the title of “The Doors” seemed to have taken off as “The Commandments” had. He had felt the titles were silly, but understood humanity’s desire to give everything a name. Not to mention the nerdery amongst us is pretty high, thought Warner.
To answer their questions, he was happy to oblige with weaving a tale that made all seven look good. If he was often in the center of things, well that was just good storytelling. There were no lies in his yarn, nor anything held back. Even if Warner was annoyed with Vincent for taking center stage in the fight, the brawler told that part to the best of his ability. How magnificent the swordsman had looked, and how dangerous it had been to separate himself from the group.
If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
When several offered up fear in words and facial expressions, Warner confidently responded. “Those rat things were no joke,” began the brawler. “I ain’t gonna just placate you about that, but at the same time, I’m not too worried either. Sure, we poked our heads in a hole and got nipped for the effort! That doesn’t deny that our fact-finding mission was successful in the scoutin’ department. We’re just getting started folks! Lot’s to learn yet... and when we’re ready, those rat things will tremble at the sight of us!”
Working the crowd was something that Warner was quite comfortable with. After a general message, he offered words to individuals. For the fearful, the brawler offered charm and assurances. While the paranoid got from him chummy assurances that care indeed needed to be taken. Warner happily, and swimmingly, engaged those of the sixty that had gathered around.
After years of working through the system to make the world better, endearing his fellows was a breeze. Even being distracted by the itch to find Vincent wasn’t enough to stop him from laying down a strong foundation. Leadership was a mantle Warner was always happy to take and always strove for. There were too many bad leaders that could cause harm for him to allow anyone, but himself to take the lead.
Experience had taught him that if possible, a slow roll was the best way to take charge. Shake hands and smile to garner those good opinions. Then all you needed was a brilliant victory for others to put you in charge. Taking it for yourself would always sour the feelings of others; best to be chosen.
The phrase “Training room” caught his ear from the crowd and Warner zeroed in on a man with dark hair over pale skin. “Conor right?” rumbled Warner at the right pitch to cut through the chatter. After a nod that it was, he added, “You spoke of a training room?”
“Yeah, turns out that hallway leads to a room with soft floors and wooden training weapons,” replied Conor pointing at the hallway alone on one wall. “I took a look with some others earlier. There are even ranges for the archers and the laser gun guy.”
“Someone has a laser gun?” a genuinely surprised Warner asked. “That seems out of genre for this place.”
“Maybe, but it doesn’t look like future tech,” explained Conor. “Looks like a magical artifact. I’d say take a look, but I think he finished practicing.”
“Interesting,” remarked Warner as he filed away that information. A gun of any kind had potential in a fantasy realm. “I’m going to take a look at this training room if anyone would like to join me. As I said before, we need to be prepared.”
The seed of a plan grew in his mind as a few followed after him. Warner wasn’t worried that the rest didn’t come as well. For his personal stock to rise, the brawler only needed a few to spread the tale. The next step was to pick a fight, friendly or otherwise. Through this, he would settle Vincent and raise his popularity. The victory would gain him respect and if possible, snatching Vincent for his team would be the greater prize in the long term.
The walls of the hallway were painted like most of the Great Hall. The mosaics here depicted martial prowess as well, but here it was between humans only; no monsters. It reminded him of ancient art for gladiators or depictions of heroic battles. The designs appealed to his current mood and Warner felt like a gladiator himself when he entered the main room of the training area.
He scanned to find his target. As Conor had said the room had softer floors, though only in one section. The stone floor continued forward from the hallway leading to another doorway, but to the right of that walkway was the softer terrain. The feel to the brawler’s feet was like foam, but with the give of mats. This area was bordered on three sides by more stone walkways with benches on several levels like an auditorium. There were also along the edge of the soft floor, boxes and frames holding a range of different wood weapons.
There were several people making use of the training space. The first to catch his eye were members of his group, Elena Cooke and Zechariah Law, practicing together. Taller than even Warner, Elena wielded a wooden ax and shield against the shield of Zechariah. The stout man was in the middle of retaliating with his spear when they entered. The two large combatants fought furiously with almost smooth movements. The bout ended with a spear’s strike almost tangling in Elena’s kinky hair and the ax’s dull edge grazing Zechariah along his spear arm. Both stopped, nodding to each other, and then silently acknowledged Warner before starting another bout. Warner was pleased to see his teammates preparing themselves.
Some of the scouting party had preceded him here as well. Clarissa and Julie walked with a group of people coming down from the further hallway. Those around them carried bows like the redhead archer. Making use of training dummies was Malachi. Warner was annoyed to see that Malachi continued to look regal as the man worked slowly through positions.
The brawler grinned when he zeroed in on his target after glossing over a couple more groups. Vincent was presently showing positions to three women with gloomy expressions. It appeared the swordsman was familiar with more than the sword as he was teaching spear and dagger stances as well. With his flock following, Warner approached and called out cheerfully, “Vincent!”
Vincent looked over his shoulder and with a mild smile replied, “Ahh… Hello Warner. Glad to see you roused.”
“Yeah, from what that Vivian told me, it’s somethin’ we should be glad of,” remarked the brawler while maintaining the politeness to keep the desire to fight off his face.
Smirking with an exasperated expression the swordsman added, “That was quite the experience. Exhilarating really, up until the, you know, the collapsing in the aftermath. I was quite worried when I turned to see everyone looking like zombies rather than celebrating.”
“Truth be told,” began Warner. “I don’t remember much after the swarm ended. Molly is the one who got me out. I’m pretty sure of that. What I do remember is your skill with the sword. You made quite the impression at the end there. Born fighter I’d say.”
“I appreciate that,” preened Salvador. “I have dedicated my life to the sword.”
“You don’t say?” considered the brawler. Doubt bubbled up before he brushed it away. He reminded himself confidently of his own battles won and polished skills. “I gotta say as a fighter myself, I was hoping for a match between the two of us.”
“Sounds fantastic,” grinned Vincent. “Sharing my knowledge is a pleasure, but… mmm… a true blue fight, I have always found it to be exceedingly intoxicating.” Then in a strange tone added, “Shall I drop the wood or would you prefer to grab some?”
Warner’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but decided to ignore it all. “Nah, I say keep the sword. I’ll use those padded mitts on the rack.”
“You would give me the advantage of range off the bat? My, aren’t you generous, or perhaps foolishly confident?”
He replied while grabbing training gloves. “Confident I am, but mostly I just want you at your best against my best.” On the rack were gloves that fell between leather and boxing gloves. The biggest pair there were a little snug, but would do the job.
As he turned back the swordsman made apologies to the women he had been teaching. They replied with cheers to kickass. To Warner, Vincent answered, “Our best eh? I am happy to oblige.”
The two circled and shifted until they had a space for their match to themselves. Warner could feel his focus begin to narrow onto the swordsman. Before the fight could take him completely he yelled, “Alright, let’s do this!” His voice rang out in the training area and as intended pulled everyone’s attention. Malachi turned with a frown, Clarissa’s group stopped to watch, and the rest of sixty in hearing range gathered to watch.
Warner was big, but he was fast. Even before waking in an enhanced body, the brawler had forced himself to push the limits of his speed. A quick fight always had a better result. After yelling he had charged the swordsman.
Still grinning, he rocketed a fist towards Vincent’s face. In response, the swordsman shifted his head while bringing the sword around for a side swing. A meaty hand slapped the blade away as the brawler bounced away and then back in again. Shifting around the wooden sword in a few steps. His fists flashed out giving out a combo to an unsteady Vincent, but in response, the man only dipped and ducked. The sword came flashing out point first to force Warner back before he could get close enough to force an impact.
This continued for several heartbeats with Warner getting in close to make sword-swinging awkward, but unable to get a good clean hit. Like a snake, the swordsman bent and contoured to avoid the dynamite blows of the brawler. Whenever he got close, the other’s sword would force distance or knock the blow away. Worse, to his increasing frustration, Vincent had barely moved from his starting position. Always circling back to that point.
He breathed in and then ducked back into the fight. Feinting with his main hand, Warner’s whole body shifted as his leg came up suddenly for a kick. The swordsman’s eyes grew wide as the foot broke the air in front of his face. With considerable skill, Vincent had just barely shifted out of the way. Despite the miss there was some satisfaction earned. That smirk that had held up during the battle was now gone. There was a serious gleam in the eyes of both opponents now.
The battle now began to shift across the training field as Warner increased his range of methods with kicks and rolls. The dynamic changed as no longer was Vincent holding ground as he tried to catch the other in an awkward maneuver. Swordsman and brawler became a duet in a dance of their own. To the watching crowd, something grew in the air. Excitement ran through the crowds. While a few watched with envy, most were comforted by the thought that there were strong people among the sixty.
Deep in his battle focus, the only thing Warner saw was the swordsman. The noise of the crowd was just static to him as he engaged his opponent. A light seemed to gather around his fists that he saw reflected along the edge of Vincent’s wooden sword. At first, he thought this was just imagined or a trick of sweat. Distractedly, the brawler realized he could feel the energy gathering around his hands. It was his branching focus on the energy that almost ended the fight.
Vincent’s blade lashed out and while the wood didn’t come close, the light continued forward. A slash of energy extended towards Warner close enough that he thought his skin might have been burned by the closeness. If the brawler hadn’t been watching and seen his flesh untouched he would have checked thoroughly. The swordsman was staring at the air where the energy had burst forth, sword hanging almost to the ground.
Warner couldn’t allow this moment to go by. Perhaps it was dishonorable, but his heart had been forged in fights where nothing could be held back. There were no limits and mercy was never rewarded.
He launched forward recklessly to make it before Vincent could recover from his shock. Questions later, victory now were his thoughts. The fist was hurling before the swordsman looked up and blanched. Grinning Warner felt the victory before his fist passed by Vincent. The brawler tried to turn to see his opponent, but a blow took him on the back of the head.
The surprise blow rocked through Warner as he tripped on his own feet. Landing on the soft terrain, he rolled onto his back in a daze. The swordsman stood over him with an offered hand. The brawler looked up at the smiling face thoughtfully. He had lost. The plan had gone awry.
“That was thrilling,” offered Vincent in the face of the silence. “I’m not sure what that beam thing was about, but I had a blast with the rest of it.”
Looking inwards Warner agreed it had been more enjoyable than he thought. A glance at the crowd saw that they had been entertained by the match at least. This still works, he thought. Wasn’t how I wanted it, but I can make do. Friendships have their own power. Everything processed, he took the offered hand and said, “Yeah, that was a hell of a good time. Do you think you could do that slash again?”
“Couldn’t tell you how I pulled it off the first time,” shrugged the swordsman. “Makes me feel like I should really read that book…”
“Shit, yeah that might be the smart move…” he agreed in shared shame.
“Hmm… want to go again?” said Vincent with mischief in his eyes.
Grinning back, “Hell yeah, we can school ourselves later!”