Chapter Three: Bloody Beginnings
When they awoke there was no way of telling how much time had elapsed. The room had not changed, at least, not in any way that they noticed. Gavin sat up too fast in his bed and had to take a moment to shake the stars from his eyes. They could all hear the rustle of the wind outside and a minute sliver of sunlight shone under the door. All seemed utterly peaceful. Even Ryan's sense of forbidding had ceased. Their quarters no longer appeared so mysterious and magical; their underground haven was merely an in-between respite for the difficulties that lay ahead.
Rested and with the assurance of the enchantment that would not let them die, the five men exited the room in a curious, solemn silence. After a series of challenges, one of them would be the ruler of their kingdom. It was a weighty thought, one that stunned them all into silence.
King Geoff was as they had left him, seated casually on his magnificent golden throne, weapon unsheathed and shining as vividly as any star in his lap. He struck them all as a glorious figure - covered in impressive dark green armour from head to toe, clean-shaven and bright –eyed with that characteristic appraising stare on his face they knew so well and that perfect obsidian crown wreathing his head.
"First task, my loyal subjects," he told them, "is a fight to the death right now without weapons. Go!"
Predictably, Mogar recovered his wits first and sank a fist into the man standing next to him. He didn't so much as attack as brutishly slug his weight and might into the most available target. His knuckles connected with a sickening crack against Gavin, who let out a strangled squealing noise in protest.
The sudden noises of violence fired adrenaline into the entire group and at once, the brawl was underway. There was no time to think, just to act. Jack simply ran, hoping to survive unscathed until he only had one opponent. He quickly scaled the wall of the arena and vaulted over, carefully landing in a patch of grass.
"We have to stay here and fight in front of you, right?" Gavin called up to the King, ducking under a right hook Ray had thrown his way.
"Right. Stay in the arena," Geoff commanded.
Jack heard his words and crept back, standing alongside the wall, biding his time.
The competition was fierce, abrupt and bloody. Within moments the fighters were hissing through their pain, sporting various injuries and the intensity of the brawl had reached a frenzied peak. Someone had to break.
Mogar was holding nothing back, bashing Ray repeatedly in the back until his friend was left purple with bruises and desperately cupping his injured left arm close to his chest. Sensing vulnerability, Ryan jammed a vicious elbow into the back of Ray's head. The suited man crumpled to the grass, gasping and then he simply vanished out of sight.
"The enchantment has taken effect. Ray is out of this round," Geoff told them coolly as the combatants circled each other before his throne. Jack spotted the already drying red-brown blood where Ray's form had lain prone on the ground. He hoped the young warrior was now unscathed but there was no way of checking as he had vanished downstairs and wouldn't be allowed to return until there was a victor.
Distracted with worry for Ray, Jack had accidently walked out into the light where he could easily be seen. Mogar pointed at him.
"Jack's trying to hide!" he yelled. "Get him!"
Unbelievably, the others followed Michael's cry and Jack suddenly found himself surrounded by the other contestants. Ryan walloped a blow into his abdomen, knocking the air from his lungs but Jack did not fall. He pelted across the arena floor, gasping to get his wind back, making for the farthest wall he could find. Mogar had Ryan in a headlock and the two of them fought against each other's strength. Gavin gave chase after Jack.
The young boy was not a great match for Jack, who was physically taller and stronger than the scrawny little Gavin could ever hope to be. Although he managed to land a fist on Jack's chest that did hurt quite a bit, his competition simply grabbed him by the belt and scruff of his shirt and threw him against the stone wall. With a horrendous crunching noise Gavin met the structure neck first, his lifeless body slapped against the wall and then, shuddering, the young man also disappeared. Jack bit back the surge of vomit that crept to the back of his throat in reaction to what he'd just done.
Mogar and Ryan had managed to somehow move closer to Jack and the three of them formed an odd triangle of battle. Michael was unpredictable and relentless, crushing his opponent's ribs with a volley of attacks that didn't seem to falter. Pummelling, yelling abuse at his opponents, laughing savagely whenever he spotted weakness - Michael was truly in his element. Ryan was more methodical, assaulting Jack's knees and stomach, trying to bring the man down to the ground where he couldn't try to run away. Jack was tough and a decent fighter but his heart was not in it; he didn't have the single-mindedness of Ryan or the blatant ferocity Mogar had in this fight. He fell next, as Ryan roughly shoved him from behind and followed it up with a kick to the side of his head. Blurred vision and hot tears of pain followed. After a couple of seconds Jack felt the world shrink to a tiny spot of perception. He struggled feebly against several agonising kicks to his ribs and then mercifully he found himself lying in a bed underground. He was out of the round. He had a brief moment of panic but the injury had disappeared as he had and the bone he thought he'd dislocated was intact. Jack met Gavin and Ray's faces with a mixture of relief and uncertainty.
Will Ryan be able to best Mogar? He considered it an unlikely outcome. The three eliminated contestants waited patiently, listening intently to the grunts, roars and foul language issuing from somewhere above their heads as the brawl continued.
Mogar dashed blood out of his eyes where his nose had broken and the gore had flecked upwards in the heat of battle. Ryan's jaw was set in a grim line of determination as they closed in on each other, arms aloft, waiting to deflect the assault of the other.
How do I stop him? Ryan considered desperately. How can I bring him down?
Michael had no such quandaries; he lashed out and managed to seize Ryan's shirt in his hand. With this tenuous hold Mogar forced his other hand behind his opponent's neck and brought Ryan's head crashing abruptly down onto the solid ground. The first thrust left Ryan spitting stones and cursing with surprise, the second made his left side go limp and the third stopped his weird bucking movements altogether. A few gurgles later and Ryan's body vanished, leaving behind flecks of blood, skin and hair where it had been ripped away on the more serrated pebbles on the earth.
Round one had finished. Mogar lent back and only then realised how heavily he was breathing, sucking in huge gasps of air, trying to slow his thudding heart. Adrenaline still surged through his veins. Perspiration ran in thick rivers from his hairline and dripped down his limbs. There were several nasty bruises that, in the wild bloodlust of battle, he hadn't noticed. But suddenly he felt them all – the scraps on his knuckles, the twinge of his ankle, every cry from his protesting muscles and the dull ache of bruises slowly forming.
Swiss. Fucking. Cheese. Michael hadn't realised how much of a toll his body had taken and in the aftermath, it felt as though he'd been run over by a whole herd of rampaging beasts.
King Geoff applauded – a gentle sound after the cries of frantic battle. Michael raised his eyes to the King on his throne. Geoff's face was hard to scrutinise but Mogar detected the faintest hint of amazement and – could it be – acceptance?
"Mogar wins. A great victory for you." From a wooden chest next to the golden throne Geoff withdrew something large and square. "Receive your prize, a piece of the Tower."
As was tradition, each game that the friends competed in was concluded with a victor's Tower, a beautiful golden creation to show their grandiosity, highly coveted by all who witnessed their construction. Four golden pieces atop a rare obsidian block - that was the trophy. Mogar half-limped, half-stumbled to the base of the throne and caught a piece of gold Geoff threw down to him then, still cursing at his wounds, placed it on his corresponding obsidian pedestal. One down, three to go. When finished, the entire Tower would shine and stand taller than any of them, signifying the victor's ascension over all of the others. Fitting then, that it should be the prize for the new King.
"Rest, Michael, the next round begins soon," King Geoff advised, watching his young friend place the first block on his road to the throne.
Can I actually do this? Michael mused as he cautiously dragged his protesting body towards the underground chamber. Can I take Geoff's place? He had less of a desire to lead than anyone would have guessed and he also revered the drinking, laughing, boisterous King that he served. Sliding a little on the uneven ground, he finally made it to the doorway that led to rest and recuperation. There was a deadened quality to his sense of victory that he didn't like.
I can fight but I don't think I could rule for shit, he admitted to himself, heaving the door open. And I don't want to try.
Despite his misgivings, Michael descended the stairway to recuperate in the enchanted bed for a moment before the next round of this insane tournament could commence.