Chapter 25: Duel to the Death
Now inside the dressing room of Gatou Underground Fighting Club, Brandon stripped himself to just a pair of boxers. The rules demanded it, to show off the rippling muscles and savage nature of necrolyzed brutes.
He grinned when the name of his opponent fleeted across his mind. Bartel Smith. The man who tried to make a little girl fight in an arena for his personal gain deserved another round of beating before his second death.
"You're very lucky that you're a loan shark. Then you chased a normal-looking dog across the streets with a big-ass axe. To cap it all off, Boss did really well in getting people so hyped up about Bartel," Albert told him with a smile. "If the civilians bet against Bartel instead, I bet Mr. Wong will want you to lose just so that he'll get a lot of money."
Wriggling her tail, Nancy yipped. Brandon crouched to stroke the pup's head.
"I mean, Mr. Wong is really serious about this. The committee didn't even have a problem letting Nancy in, you know? 'Brandon could use more supporters,' they said." Albert looked at his wristwatch. "Hmm, I think you still have some time for warming up."
Brandon first thought of doing a few one-handed knuckle push-ups, but then he had an idea with the metal lockers in the room. Approaching the leftmost one, he jumped and hooked his hand on its top. Too bad the object was placed just too close to the wall, so he couldn't hook his foot and do upside down ab crunches instead.
As he did pull-ups, someone knocked on the door. Looking to his right, he saw Albert open the door and greet Biscoe.
"Are you ready?" Biscoe stepped into the room. "Bartel is already heading to the ring."
Brandon hissed. His heartbeat hadn't even risen a bit, and he had yet to sweat! But if he really had to go now, then fine; thrashing Bartel sounded fun, too. So he dropped down, nodded and left the room with Biscoe. Albert and Nancy followed him.
As they walked along the bright hallway, Biscoe patted Brandon on the back. "Just stall him for one minute. I'm sure that you'll win once the weapons come."
Brandon flashed Biscoe a smile and nodded. Things sounded easy peasy.
The end of the hallway came to his sight. Brandon could hear the cheering spectators as he approached the open double door. Bartel - now a gray-haired giant like him - stood still, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
"Took you long enough," he began. "I can't wait to make you pay for what you've done to me." He looked at Biscoe. "Also, your boss has promised to let me take over your position in Millennion if I win."
Brandon halted. His muscles tensed, his jaw dropped, his eye widened. Then he looked at Biscoe, whose face was an impassive mask. Behind him Albert stood, shocked just like Brandon. Nancy's angry barks came from beside him.
Bartel only laughed. "You have such a bad boss."
Blasphemy! Roaring, Brandon sprang at Bartel, seized his head and slammed his skull against the wall again and again.
"Stop!"
Brandon went on, not caring whether the shout came from Biscoe or Albert. The dent on the wall grew larger as more cracks appeared.
He stopped abruptly when a tight grip seized his leg. His hand left Bartel's face and revealed a wicked grin.
Bartel threw Brandon away. The spectators roared in excitement as he ripped across the air like a missile and landed on the ring. Getting up, he saw Bartel jump over the ropes.
Where was the referee? The introduction? The bell?
Ah, screw formality! The crowd was cheering.
Bartel's fist whizzed past Brandon's cheek. A sickening rip echoed in his right ear, and blood dribbled down the right side of his face and neck. Everything from his left sounded so loud all of a sudden.
Fight first, whine later! Another fist came, which landed on Brandon's palm. The impact pushed him back slightly, but Brandon simply launched himself at Bartel. Both of them slammed onto the ground, with Brandon on top.
Scrunching his brow and gritting his teeth, Brandon hammered his fist into Bartel's face again and again. Blood stained his knuckles and kindled the flame of pleasure within him. Shocked by the sensation, he stopped his assault. Did the transformation-
Bartel shoved him away and got up. A barrage of fists and feet came, which Brandon dodged and blocked. Unless he wanted that pleasant feeling to overwhelm him and probably transform him, he'd better remain defensive. Only when the weapons came would he go on the offensive; a one-hit kill couldn't possibly rouse his brain reward system.
Bartel's strikes slowly pushed him to the corner of the ring. As the spectators chanted Bartel's name, Biscoe and Albert called out to him in concern. Brandon knew; in a fight, he had always traded blows and tried to find a flaw in his foe's movements. Not like this time, in which he simply let Bartel attack again and again and never bothered to seek that chink.
Brandon's back hit the cold steel pole. His heart pounded hard and fast. Sweat trickled down his face and body. Bartel sported that same wicked grin, and he hadn't sweated even a bit. Dried blood stained his nose and lips.
Brandon could only block one punch before taking a blow to his stomach. Then more fists came - in a blur - to pummel his torso as though it was a punching bag. Blood and saliva escaped from his mouth and splattered against Bartel's face.
Bartel licked the fluid off his own lips as he punched, sending chills down Brandon's spine.
Ding!
Bartel stopped and looked away. Brandon, gasping for air and holding the rope for support, scanned the surroundings.
A pair of massive guns - Cerberus - clattered on the ground behind Bartel. As he went to grab them, the giant axe Bonehacker landed in front of Brandon.
I can do it. Bartel couldn't possibly have any experience in firearms.
Axe in hand, Brandon charged. Bartel pointed the guns at Brandon and pulled the triggers, only to discharge nothing but clicks. The crowd roared in confusion, while Albert and Biscoe shouted, "Go, Brandon! Go!" Nancy's excited barks somehow made their way through all the noises.
Brandon grinned and brought his axe down. The blade crashed into crossed guns, much to Brandon's surprise. With their weapons grinding against each other, Brandon launched a knee at Bartel's stomach and broke their struggle.
Brandon slashed down again, only to slam the blade against a gun. Just as he retreated, Bartel smacked him across his face with the other gun. The crowd erupted in excitement as Bartel whacked him again and again. Blood, teeth and saliva flew from Brandon's mouth.
He wouldn't let go of his axe, though. The chance to strike would eventually come.
After a few more smacks, Bartel raised the guns above his head. Brandon swung his axe at Bartel's waist, but the hammering blow soon struck Brandon's skull. The axe slipped out of his hand, and he collapsed. Ragged scarlet pools formed beneath him.
Not yet... With his hand as a support, he slowly rose.
A foot came down upon his head and kept him from getting up. Damn, Bartel just applied the right pressure on the stomp - strong enough to force even more blood out of every single orifice on his head, yet weak enough to keep him alive.
"I win," Bartel declared, setting down the guns and picking up the axe. Whistles and applause came from everywhere, slightly muffled by the blood in Brandon's ear canals. Amid the noise, Brandon heard Biscoe and Albert calling out to him.
Brandon grabbed Bartel's leg, his fingernails digging deep into the fleshy calf as he tried to lift it. Looking up, he saw the light that glinted off the axe.
Bartel blocked it with Cerberus.
Why hadn't he thought of it? Also, the careless Bartel had placed Cerberus right beside his prone body.
Brandon picked up one of the guns and pointed it at Bartel, his thumb ready to push a tiny button - the magazine ejector button - near its hammer. Good thing his gun had its mag attached to underneath its barrel.
"You're very funny!" Bartel laughed. "That gun-"
Brandon pushed the button. With a click, the mag left the gun like a bullet and struck Bartel in the forehead. Disoriented, Bartel darted off and dropped the axe. The crowd called out to Bartel in concern.
Yes! Brandon put away the gun and grabbed the falling axe. Bartel attempted another stomp, but a swing of Bonehacker lopped off both of his legs. Brandon smacked away the severed limbs with the flat side of the axe before standing up. His legs trembled, but not as badly as Bartel. Now, his foe could only sit still and eye the bleeding stumps of his legs in disbelief.
Silly thing didn't know that necrolyzers could never regrow lost limbs.
Brandon raised his axe above his head and brought it down. Bartel clamped his hands on the incoming blade and tried to push it back, but his attempt merely delayed his death for a few seconds.
Bartel's bifurcated body fell apart, and silence enveloped the arena.
Nancy's howl, followed by Albert's and Biscoe's incoming footsteps, broke the silence. The referee finally showed his face as well and joined the others into the ring.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!" The referee held Brandon's hand and raised it into the air. "Brandon Heat emerges victorious after a long, grueling fight against Bartel Smith!"
Brandon smiled weakly at the spectators. His vision blurred and darkened; without Biscoe's and Albert's hold on him, he must've crashed to the ground. The crowd eventually cheered and clapped their hands, but they weren't as loud and spirited as one would expect.
Not that he cared. Time to rest up and recover. For his family. For the battles that awaited him in the future.
A/N: Thanks to all those who have reviewed! Big shout-outs to those who have made it to chapter 20 and above when I post this final chapter: VStarTraveler, Theodore Hawkwood, and MissScorp. Thanks for having given so much food for thought and help in many technical stuff!