Hell Raiser: 5
Dojo Rule #1: Never challenge Marcus Hailbringer to a drinking contest.
Why? Because you will always, always, lose. Liam slumped into the side of one of the veranda posts. The rock garden in front of him did little to pacify the pounding in his head. He was lucky to have made it this far on his own and even luckier to have changed into a fresh set of warm ups before venturing out of his room. Drinking songs would be the death of him. Either that, or the sunlight happily blinding him through the archways. Liam flattened a hand above his eyes with a painful glance at the sky. What time was it? Noon? More like half past a hangover from hell.
"Still alive?" someone grumbled from across the sand.
"Unfortunately," Liam yawned. He stood away from the post, only to lean on the next one down the line. Marcus sat in a pose of mediation on top of the largest boulder in the garden. Shirtless, as usual. At least, he was still wearing pants. The same couldn't be said regarding a poorly played poker game last night. The fighter winked open an eye.
"You haven't seen John this morning, have you?" Liam asked in a matching squint.
Marcus closed his eye again. The bamboo water pipe clacked against the stone in the fountain. "Hard to see anybody with your eyes closed," the fighter answered. Now, he wanted to play student. Liam sighed, unable to raise his head as much as his eyelids. He wasn't in the mood.
"Alright then, did you hear anybody go by?" Liam revised. Try as Marcus may, Liam knew there was no depth to that meditation. The fighter drank three gallons more than him last night. A leaf landing in the fountain probably sounded like an explosion, let alone the steps of a six foot tall man passing by. Even B.B., the teddiursa, sitting in a mirroring pose of mediation next to Marcus on a much smaller rock understood that. The little bear pokemon looked up at the ace then his trainer. Marcus didn't give them as much as a flutter of an eyelash. Liam narrowed his eyes, closed them with a pivot of his heel, and lifted his chin.
"Oh well, I'll just move along then," he said. "Wouldn't want to interrupt a master at his work. Maybe John went into the woods to train. I guess I'll just have to find him. Hopefully, I won't get stung by a weedle or trip over a venonat, get stunned, and die from anaphylactic shock." Liam walked away.
"Haven't seen him since last night," Marcus suddenly announced.
Liam stopped with a slightly nefarious smirk. He quickly tucked it into his pocket for a rainy day and turned back around. "Me either, and I've checked the whole compound. Athena's missing too."
"Think he took her?"
"Not sure. I'm also missing my keys and some loose change. They might be in the same spot," Liam tilted his head accusingly. "Know where they might be?"
Marcus adjusted his shoulders. "If you're implying that I caught that wannabe thieving, left him in a ditch somewhere, and buried the body, than the answer is no." He winked open an eye. "But I wish I could have."
Liam crossed his arms over his chest. The smirk returned. "If I had to take a guess, I'd say you didn't like him very much." Which was quite the opposite in Liam's case. Then again, Marcus disapproved of a lot of the things Liam liked. It's what's kept him alive for so long.
"Of course, I don't," Marcus snarled, the mere thought of John enough to break him out of concentration. The fighter stood up and hopped over onto the veranda via more boulders. The floor shook when he landed. "The kid's a fraud."
"A fraud that managed to last five seconds against you instead of three," Liam added with a nod of correction.
"And a thief," Marcus fired back.
"Let's not bring up the ease to which we lose pokeballs," Liam advised. Marcus opened his mouth but quickly shut it again. Liam turned and walked away once more. Marcus jumped into step behind him. "And what do you care if he's missing?" the fighter quickly added in regards to the dojo's newest addition. "A trainer weak enough to bail out in the middle of the night ain't worth ur time. Why are you so adamant about keeping him around anyway? Don't you get tired of all his damn talking?"
"Sounds to me like you're a little jealous," Liam mused.
Marcus clenched his teeth in another retort but quickly remembered the pokemon he left behind. B.B., the teddiursa struggled to get down from his rock without touching the sand. "Jealous?" Marcus exclaimed a little too loudly while he jerked back to retrieve the bear before Liam noticed. "Are you still drunk from last night?" Marcus extended a hand, grabbed the outstretched paw, and swung the little bear onto his shoulder. He quickly relaxed as if B.B. had been there the whole time.
Liam stopped at the corner of the porch. He reached up and tapped one of the dark paper lanterns above him. "Maybe just a little," he whispered.
He wished.
As a celebrity ace, Liam had an uncanny recovery ability when it came to champagne parties and whiskey weekends. But there was one thing he couldn't hide . . . his eyes. "Spill it," Marcus demanded as he swiped his jacket from the floor and put it on. B.B. used an ear for a hold and stepped over the collar as his trainer tugged it into place. "What he do to you?" Marcus continued. Being friends for at least five years now, he could always tell when something was amiss. He stood beside Liam at the corner of the house. The ace refused to look at him, and when they inevitably made eye contact, Marcus dropped his arms. "Aww, shit," he cursed. "What did you do to him?"
"Nothing, really," Liam quickly replied with a fury swipe to the back of his head. He then pushed his hands upwards through his hair as if to hold up a halo. He grimaced. "Not . . . purposefully."
"Christ." Marcus muttered several more unholy oaths as he stormed off of the veranda.
"Hey, where are you going?" Liam called after him.
"To find that bandaged idiot and tell him exactly what kind of shit you've dragged him into!"
Liam grabbed his halo and jumped off of the porch after him. "I thought you hated him!" Liam exclaimed. He always knew the fighter would join his cause and help locate John, one way or another, but this turn of emotion was surprising.
"I used to hate him," Marcus clarified, "But now I just pity him."
"If it makes you feel any better, it didn't go nearly as bad at the festival as it could have," Liam reassured. "Frankly, it might have been worse had you decided to come with me. Good thing you're a homebody!" Marcus grunted an agreement. Going anywhere that wasn't the dojo, the bar, or a tournament often led to irritation, frustration, and a general sense of disappointment. Liam smiled in a fantasy of what "could have been" had the real Hell Raiser been in Boulder that night.
"Yeah," Liam chuckled to himself. "Those two grunts would've fallen faster than their captain!"
Marcus suddenly stopped. Liam bounced into him better than a squeaky toy. B.B. grabbed an ear as Marcus whirled upon the ace.
"Grunts?" he howled through clenched teeth. "I thought you said they were just a couple of trainers too big for their britches?"
"Well, technically-"
Marcus grabbed Liam by the shirt. "They were sent by the Ring, weren't they?"
Liam shrugged and glanced away.
"The Royal Jewels?!" Marcus deduced. "Why the hell didn't you tell me!?"
Liam looked at him with a sharp flash of his eye. "You were the one who said you were finished and needed time to reflect," he defensively quoted.
"They could've freakin' killed him!"
"But they didn't. And I thought John was just a fraud to you? Where's this sudden concern coming from? You nearly killed him yourself yesterday morning!"
Marcus growled and pushed Liam away. His jaw worked as hard as his thoughts. He paced. There was nothing either of them could say. They agreed, of their own free will, to fight in the Ring: underground fights hosted by the syndicate for martial artists of various caliber and technique who found belts and rules too constricting. Marcus looked at the bandages wrapped around his knuckles.
He was no different.
Controlled matches in the dojo, dominating practice, and winning time and time again with no hope of defeat. He needed more. He needed a challenge that allowed for his full unbridled potential. A strength Marcus quickly came to realize, needed to be contained, and not by the pockets of the Royal Jewels, deep as they may be. These bandages. They weren't to protect his fists. They were to keep the blood off of his hands. Marcus couldn't stand the sight of it on his skin after nearly beating a man to death in his latest fight as "Hell Raiser". His "passion" almost murdered a man. It was the best fight the crowd had ever seen and it was the worst night of Marcus' life. Now, it was chasing him for a rematch.
"You told me you took care of it," Marcus accused, before he glanced to the side and lowered his voice. "We were finished. Out!"
"It looks like you were just too good to let go," Liam chuckled. It sounded like a cry.
Marcus clenched his fists. He would have swung but he knew Liam wouldn't have dodged. Not this time, because Liam knew he deserved it. "You went too far this time," Marcus said.
"As did you!" Liam blamed just as fiercely. "And here we are, trying to close the distance between several bad decisions." The ace suddenly very tired of this conversation and this life. Marcus understood the depth of that fatigue. He wanted to say something, but didn't know what, so he looked at B.B as a distraction. A few quiet seconds passed.
"So how'd John get involved?" Marcus diverted, softening his growl to a low mumble.
"They were trying to get their prize pony pokemon back in the game," Liam replied. His smile flickered back to life. "They mistook him for you by the drunken stupor and fighting technique. He uses the same style as you. You saw that, right? Just . . . not as aggressively."
"What!?" Marcus raged, his fists now shaking. B.B. stood up on his feet and bared his claws on one paw in response. "That bastard pretended to be me? The one and only Hell Raiser?" Only the first part of the conversation making it through the fighter's thick head.
"Cool your flames hot pants, John wasn't exactly himself. It wasn't his fault. He was under the influence."
"From a pokemon or you?"
"Let's not dredge up the details."
Marcus loosed his grip and surged past Liam. The ace gingerly hopped out of the way. "Where are you going now?" he asked.
"To find that cripple and show you just how alike we are. What kind of idiot mistakes that idiot for me?"
Having searched the compound, Liam knew John wasn't in his room but when Marcus was on a rampage, he wasn't keen on listening . . . or thinking. Marcus made his way straight for the medical suite John was staying at. He swiped open the door so hard that it cracked in the frame. Liam winced but it didn't stop him from peeking around the fighter's shoulder. There was a cupboard, one folded futon, but no John. If one wasn't familiar with the distinct soft wrinkle of the blanket, placement of the head pillow, and slightly displaced mat, no one would have known that the room was being used.
Marcus huffed again and moved out of the door on his way to the next room. With no luck in the dojo, medical bay, and training grounds, he was now on a personal vendetta to find the trainer even if he had to start pulling apart the veranda plank by plank. Liam quickly took the fighter's place and walked into the room. It was no bigger than a broom closet. At full stretch, John would hardly fit in here at all. A small bag lay against the front wall. Adorned in mud, worn fabric, frayed straps, and plastic buttons, it was unmistakably a clue to John's whereabouts. The trainer wouldn't leave without it.
But then again, it was completely and utterly trashed.
Liam sighed and sat next to the bag as if it would bring him closer to solving the mystery. It worked the last time at the hospital. Someone in the building over suddenly shouted in annoyance. Marcus must be making good time. Liam leaned his head against the wall. With nothing in the room remotely interesting to the eye, he looked at the bag again. Every pocket had been left unzipped in some fashion or another. The contents inside completely open to the wandering eye. Cute. John was so trustworthy. Liam picked up his head for a better look. As long as he didn't touch anything, he could snoop guilt free.
There were no pokeballs like last time but John's wallet was inside. Liam shifted and his toe bumped against the bottom of the bag. He would have thought nothing of it except that it knocked with the tap of wood. Every student in the dojo memorized what it felt like to stub a toe on the veranda. But this was different. Plastic clacked, faux finish squeaked, but wood: true grained, nature made, custom carved wood, had a ring to it that demanded admiration of its craftsmanship, especially by someone who appreciated the luxury. Liam wasn't about to insult John by ignoring it. He pulled open the bag and looked inside. A wooden box lay at the bottom of it. He hadn't noticed it before due to the pokeballs, but now that they were gone, it was clear as day. And clearly out of place. He reached inside and carefully pulled it out.
All in the hopes of finding another clue to John's whereabouts, of course.
Liam's heart fluttered at the sight of it. Carved into that box was a language that had not been spoken in the living world for centuries. Detail after detail alluded to stories that would make historians scream in discovery. Liam quickly set the box in his lap and pulled his hands away. To transfer oil from his fingers and onto the grain would have been to splash cooking grease upon a 13,000 year old illuminated manuscript. But even manuscripts were meant to be viewed. Using a delicacy that brain surgeons would approve of, Liam opened the lid. Not a squeak from the hinges or wisp of dust came from within. There was only a dark blue cloth more royal than the Valenis family name. Or so it seemed. Fold after glossy fold alluded to something underneath the fabric.
Liam had to find out what. After all, it may be a clue to finding John, or more likely, why the hell John refused to talk about himself (aside from the fact that he was crazy). Was this the reason why Sheriff Cewalski arrested John the other night? Did the trainer steal it from someone else? No matter the question, an answer lay inside. Liam took the cloth by the end and lifted it away. Every part of him froze. Not a beat or blink passed between the seconds. Liam closed the box. He glanced up in a laugh, cut it short with the realization that he wasn't dreaming, and opened it again.
Liam picked up the speckled silver and blue feather by the quill and held it up to the light. Never in all of his spoiled enriched life had he ever come across a Silver Wing. Collectors talked about them. Hearsay, mostly. Nothing valid, nothing to ever indicate there was one still in existence, yet here Liam held one in his hand. Sure, he couldn't be 100% sure it was the real thing but every collector vibe in his body hummed with discovery. No wonder John wanted to keep everything to himself. He was carrying around a very, very, valuable relic. One Liam had been searching for, for years. If this feather was real . . . Liam laughed. If this was real then John might only be half as crazy as everyone thought he was.
"Picking up new habits?"
Liam was so amazed by the discovery that he didn't flinch when he realized Master Ruji was standing in the doorway next to him.
"I tolerate many things," Master Ruji solemnly continued, "but snooping is not one of them. Ninjutsu and darkness are this gym's type."
Perseus, the medicham, jumped off of Ruji's shoulder and landed inside the room. Liam held up the feather between them. "Do you have any idea what this is?!" he asked.
"I know that it's not yours and I would advise putting it exactly where you found it," Master Ruji answered.
"This is a Silver Wing. A Silver Wing. The only intact sample that I know of, and I know a lot."
"Too much for your own good."
"Do you know what this means?! It's a breakthrough, a miracle, it's a legendary find!"
"I know that if you make one step out of this room with that box, your dream of earning a Cork City Gym Badge will be vanquished as well as your capacity to move."
It was a threat sharp enough to cut through Liam's exploding fantasies. The ace looked up with a curious and even innocent lift of his brow. "You think I want to steal it?" Liam asked. Master Ruji didn't answer. Perseus didn't move. Liam scoffed out a laugh, quickly tucked the feather into the box, and back into the bag. "I don't want the feather," Liam quickly explained. It was old, tattered, used. The chances of summoning a pokemon with it were zero. He had something much better. "I want the trainer who found it!"
Delusional or not, John spoke of an unknown pokemon. Everyone wrote him off because they didn't believe him. If that pokemon was indeed the owner of this feather than it was more than capable of institutionalizing a human. It could move oceans, break skies, and destroy cities with one flap of its wings. And John had met it in person. There was a chance he could do it again. Every second counted. Liam leapt past Master Ruji so fast that the wake of his passing disturbed the old man's beard.
"Stop right there," Master Ruji commanded. The words were spoken plainly. They were not yelled nor shouted and yet Liam skid to a stop in the gravel. He whirled around in a gasp of withheld excitement. Master Ruji carefully and slowly, turned around. "There's no point trying to stop you," he admitted. "I know better than that. You've challenged this gym three times already and I know it won't be the last. But hear this." He pointed a gnarled finger at the ace. "Do not drag that boy into any of your funny business."
"No comedians here," Liam winked.
"Really? Because you could have fooled me. Mrs. Johnson said she saw two strangers hanging around McAlister's last night, not a day after you come here with a stranger wielding more defensive wounds than a clyoster shell."
Liam's smile dropped down to the sand at his feet. "What?"
"That boy isn't made for mischief," he said in reference to John. "Keep bringing it into my city and believe me when I say, you have not battled me angry."
Perseus jumped back onto Ruji's shoulder. That pokemon alone was responsible for three failed gym challenges. Liam swallowed the lump in his throat. A bead of sweat ran down his neck. Not only from the very real and present threat of banishment from the dojo should he fail to uphold himself as an honorable and worthy ace, but because someone from the Royal Jewels had come and gone without him knowing anything about it.
"I'm sorry Gramps, you have my word," Liam said. He tried to hide his fear with a smile like he always did. And like always, Master Ruji saw right through it. Liam quickly turned around before the master saw something much deeper and darker. Ruji did not follow. He had uttered his final warning. From here on out, Liam's actions would decide the rest. And right now, he had to get to McAlister's as soon as possible.
Cork City had an invisible moral ward around it. Liam never considered the possibility that the underground would follow him all the way out here. He ran out of the dojo and down the road. McAlister's was the last place he saw John and the last place a group of outsiders shady enough to blip on Master Ruji's radar was seen. The town was too small for coincidences. Did John summon these strangers? Were they his contacts to possibly sell off the Silver Wing? Was he a fence for antiquities? Then again, why would Master Ruji protect someone considered to be a bad guy? That old geezer could smell mischief five miles away, most of the time because he started it. Liam scratched his head with a growl. No, that wasn't it. He slowed in front of the eatery, scrambling to catch his breath.
The lights were out, door locked, and a "Closed" sign hung in the window, as expected after a party like last night. Old man McAlister wouldn't lock up if there was still someone inside. John hadn't been left behind. Liam took a step back and glanced around. Aside from the shrubbery Marcus crushed when he fell out of the door last night, everything seemed to be in place. He jogged around to the back. Both trash cans were full. Even the wild pokemon were wise enough not to disturb it until the coast was clear.
No signs of a broken entry or fist fight, just a few cigarette butts which were odd for a place like Cork City, but not enough to be considered the traces of a stake out. Liam walked back out onto the main road. He whistled sharply. Nothing came and nothing answered. Athena was still missing, just like John. Were they together? She certainly wasn't with Marco. Not a chipper or flap disturbed the morning and John was just as forgetful to put away his pokemon as Marcus was to keep them nearby. Both pidgeotto were gone. Which was even more puzzling because, if John was looking to make a profit, the male would fetch a higher price than the female from uniqueness alone.
Marcus appeared down the road in full sprint for the ace. Surprisingly, all three of his pokemon were with him. B.B. rode on his shoulder, Zoro ran out in front, and Porthos, his makuhita, struggled to keep up in the back. All four skid to a halt in front of Liam. "Sensei said you ran out of the compound like a zubat outta hell," Marcus gasped between pants. "What's the deal?"
Liam was tempted to answer but instead put a hand to his lip and looked around with a scrunch of his nose. A smoky twang defiled the usually crisp mountain air. Charcoal in nature and somewhat sulfuric, it smelt like the traces of a weapon. Or a pokemon. "Do you smell that?" Liam asked.
Marcus turned up his nose but it wasn't because of the smell. "Che, and here I thought you were in trouble and needed my help. That cryptic old bastard . . ."
Liam thought about muttering the same until Zoro ran past them. He hurried down the road several paces before he lightly tapped to a stop and picked up something off of the ground. He turned around and held it up. Liam dropped his stale disappointment, walked over, and took it. Something pinged. Marcus looked around at the sound. Liam immediately pulled out his phone from his pocket and unlocked the screen. An alert popped up from a number that would be disconnected by the end of the day.
"So did you find the kid or what?" Marcus asked, oblivious to the technological interruption.
"No," Liam answered as he turned around and held out his phone, "but it looks like you've got a hot date tonight."
A message lit up the screen. It was part of a mass alert meant for anyone willing to lose money, skirt the law, and have a little fun. It read: "Main Showcase Tonight: Hell Raiser Vs. The Hangman – Center Ring." The underground was hosting another fight. Tonight.
"What the fuck is this?" Marcus demanded with a jab of his finger that blurred the screen. "I told you, I wasn't going to fight-," he quickly glanced around and in a brief moment of control, lowered his voice. "I told you I wasn't fighting for those blood letters anymore!"
"I know," Liam answered as he delicately took away his phone before Marcus crushed it in his hands.
"But why would they promote a fight for tonight?" Marcus asked. "I'm all the way out here. I'm nowhere near the Ring. That hell hole of a city isn't remotely close. We would've had to leave hours ago to make it on time. Maybe last night or early morning if we were bookin' it."
"I don't get it either . . ." Liam's voice trailed away as distant words rang clear once more. "Bring Hell Raiser back into the fight or we will," the grunts in Boulder had warned. That was their message from the Royal Jewels. At the time, Liam didn't take the threat to heart because of the mouth it came from. It wasn't just a message. It was a promise.
"Well, they're about to get one helluva surprise," Marcus exclaimed with a satisfied cross of his arms over his chest, "Because Hell Raiser isn't fighting tonight."
"Oh he is," Liam corrected as he tucked the phone back into his pocket. "It's just the Hell Raiser they met in Boulder."
"What the hell does that mean?"
Liam revealed the Cork City gym badge Zoro had given him. He held it between his fingers. The edges were becoming familiar in his hands. "It means, I know where John is."