Chapter 8: First Rodeo

After several days of using the dummy as a punching bag, Foxy found himself a dusty metal pole buried in a trash pile near the workshop. It was a couple feet in length and had a nice, balanced weight to it, making it the perfect entry to the fine art of beating somebody with a stick.

It wasn't exactly cutlass material by any means, but it seemed like it'd function well enough. At least, that's what Argos said about it. But he and Horton had a better idea for the vulpine, so plans were set into motion to give him a real weapon to fight with while he sparred using his training weapon.

So, that was how Foxy had been training for a week straight now. Day in, day out, every waking moment was spent here in this same spot, hacking away at the same dummy. Now, it was covered in dents, scrapes, and had been reattached to the base several times already. Even the base itself was starting to rapidly show its age.

The vulpine was laying on the ground, breathing heavily after the training he had just finished. It had been his last chance to practice. The match was today. He'd be fighting for real soon enough, with his life on the line.

Not that it wasn't already, but still.

He could only assume it wouldn't be much longer till the match now, but in all honesty, Foxy didn't even know when exactly it started. He figured Horton would tell him that today, but that hadn't happened. In fact, what concerned him was that he hadn't seen Horton or Argos at all since yesterday. As far as he was aware, they were both locked away in their workspaces doing hell knows what.

As if on cue, the side door of the building opened violently. Foxy had barely raised his head to see who it was when Horton's familiar thinned-out voice yelled at him.

"Give me your arm!"

"Bloody hell- Hey! Careful!"

Horton yanked Foxy up, rapidly measuring every part of his forearm with some rudimentary measuring tape covered in pencil markings. Foxy just watched him, slightly bewildered, but mostly used to it at this point.

"Thank goodness, it should fit." Horton muttered.

"What should fit? You better not be getting rid of my arm, I need that!"

"I'm not getting rid of anything just yet, but I can give you this."

Without even waiting for Foxy to agree, nod, or give any kind of approval, Horton slapped something onto his right forearm. Horton pulled on some straps, buckling them tightly before backing away.

It was a bracer, of some sort at least. On one side, it was a steel armor plating. Not very big, but enough to protect his wrist and forearm. On the underside of it though was the interesting part. An assortment of weird mechanisms and gears lodged in compartments, and next to it some kind of handle that was attached to… well, he couldn't see that part, but it was attached to something.

"Horton?"

"Yes?"

Foxy eyed Horton while nodding his head at the device the owl had just strapped to him. Horton stared at the vulpine, slightly confused before his eyes lit up.

"Oh! Right, yes, allow me to explain-"

"Please do."

"-this bracer has a spring-loaded mechanism on the underside to launch the pocketed item toward your palm."

"It… shoots things into my hand?"

"Yes, well, only one specific thing."

Foxy eyed the odd handle inside the contraption. That must be what it launches, but he had no idea what he was looking at here.

"And uh… what would that be exactly?"

"How about you try it out and find that out for yourself. Just be careful. It's not attached to the bracer with anything, if you don't catch it, it'll just go flying."

Foxy eyed the contraption again, trying to see how it worked.

"Just turn the largest gear 180 degrees, and flick your wrist."

The vulpine studied the device carefully as he did exactly that, turning the knob-like gear in the front of all the rest. He could see all the inner workings of the device moving around, turning and winding up in sync with it. Then, with a satisfying click, it wouldn't move any further.

"So, just like this?" Foxy asked as he snapped his wrist backwards.

Immediately, he felt the bracer's weight shift as the item lodged inside it was flung into his palm. Catching it came to Foxy instinctively, so much so that he only noticed what it was afterwards. Between his middle and ring finger, a steel blade unfolded out from the handle in his palm, curving around at the end.

It was a hay hook.

It fit almost naturally in his hand, like he had never lost his favorite prosthetic in the first place.

"I'd say that answers it for you." Horton said, sounding rather proud of himself.

"When did you make this?" Foxy asked, already enamored with the blade.

"I had the idea a few days ago, I got started immediately and finished just now. I'm just glad I could get it to you before the match."

"Is this what Argos was off doing too?"

"No, Argos had a different idea when he saw the leftover scraps from this."

"I thought you said we didn't have any scrap?"

"We don't."

Foxy gave him a confused look.

"I also don't have a door to my office anymore."

It took him a moment to understand what Horton meant by that. Maybe a moment longer than he'd like to admit.

"You didn't have to go and do that…"

"Not having any privacy for a while is a small price to pay to give you a better chance out there. You're gonna need every bit of help you can get." Horton said, his head perking up as he finished his sentence.

"...On that note, I think Argos is probably finished."

"What was he working on?"

Horton stood up, brushing the dirt off his lab coat as he gestured for Foxy to follow him.

"Something that'll give you more of a fighting chance than a hollow pipe. Come on."

Following Horton into his house, Foxy found himself only just now realizing he had never been downstairs. At the end of a short hallway, two intimidating doors led to the room below, muffled sounds barely passing through them.

The moment Horton opened the double-doors, Foxy's ears were met with a wall of noise, all of which made his one remaining ear hurt. Metal clanging, a furnace burning, and the winding down of what sounded like some kind of high-pitched whine, the last of which was particularly awful.

The walls were filled to the brim with all kinds of hardware he had never seen before. The only tools he ever knew of were the ones he had back at the pizzeria. Here, he felt like he had walked into another dimension. Only adding to that effect, Argos had just dunked some blazing red steel into a cauldron, immediately filling the cramped space with steam to the point they couldn't really see the lizard anymore.

"ARGOS!" Horton yelled over all the noise.

The reptile turned his head toward the two.

"WHAT!?"

Foxy thought he sounded like a grandparent who'd lost their hearing aids.

"I hope that thing is finished, we need to leave soon!"

There was no response from Argos. Instead, he pulled whatever it was he had plunged into the water back out. Already much cooler, given the lack of its hot red glow.

It was a sword. An extremely rudimentary one, no hilt or anything like that. It was nothing but a short steel blade attached to a metal handle by bolts and screws, but a sword nonetheless.

Argos looked at the two of them. He had no expression on his face at all, like always. But something about the air around him gave off a feeling of satisfaction. He casually tossed the sword up and down in his own hand, as if it were just another one of his tools.

"It's done."

Pulling out a crude scabbard from underneath the table, stitched together from what seemed like a hodge-podge of fabrics and leather, the reptile sheathed the blade and promptly tossed it to Foxy. The vulpine caught the sheathed blade, flipping it over in his hands as he ran his eyes along the length of the weapon.

"With how you've been swinging that pipe around, I'd imagine it wouldn't be too different aside from it being able to chop an arm off," Argos explained as he wiped his hands off on his robes.

Foxy drew the blade and weighed it in his hand. It was very light, and for a sword with no pommel, guard, or anything fancy like that, it was surprisingly balanced. The handle didn't exactly feel natural in his hand, but it definitely wouldn't slip.

"This feels surprisingly balanced." Foxy said, clearly impressed.

"It'd be a lot better if I wasn't making it out of a door, but hey, it's still steel." the lizard remarked.

"Yes yes, very good craftsmanship, as expected. I'm sure Foxy will love the sword; can we go now?"

"What's got you in a rush?" Foxy teased, wrapping a loose cloth around both the scabbard and his waist, securing it firmly at his side.

"Foxy, the match starts in less than 10 minutes."

"It what-"

Horton was already halfway up the stairs, not bothering to answer, instead gesturing for him to follow. Which the vulpine did, quickly.

"Why didn't you tell me the match was starting so soon?!"

"Because I was busy making your hook! Now come on! Being late for a match like this is a quick way to get yourself killed around here!"

As if to accentuate the time crunch, Horton frantically kicked open the front door. Hopping out, Foxy followed behind, quickly taking the lead as Horton yelled some flavorful words while holding his foot.

A few moments later, Argos calmly locked up and left the building to follow at his own pace.

As the trio moved through the arena tunnel, the more thunderous the cheering grew. Who knew animatronics could be so loud? Beyond the muffled shouts and yelling of the audience, Foxy could barely make out the sound of the announcer. It was that same thick-accented wolf from the other day, Mikhail.

This was different from the Rite, much different. That had been a quiet buildup. It was dark, there was no noise, no one watching, nothing but the anticipation of the slaughter to come.

Here, he could hear the roars of an audience long before he could even see them. At the end of this walkway, beyond that gate, the roof would be opened, and along with the light that would bring, it would also bring what must've been a hundred thousand animatronics. All watching, yelling, cheering, betting…

Their whole world revolved around these fights, didn't it?

The three of them stopped a ways back from the threshold of a crude archway, one which appeared to be retrofitted in between the cages that lined the inner wall of the arena.

Foxy turned to the other two.

"So, is this where we split up?"

Argos nodded in response. Horton, however, took the vulpine under his wing, literally.

"We'll be watching from the sidelines, so whatever happens, we're not too far off. Just… be careful, okay? Focus on avoiding as many blows as you can, your goal is to survive."

"Pretty sure that's the general idea here," the fox returned.

"I think he's got it, Horton," Argos said as the crowd picked up outside.

"I'll be fine, I promise."

Horton stared at Foxy for a moment longer than either of them were comfortable with. It was an awkward moment, but somehow in a warm way. Like a family member not knowing how to say goodbye. He put a wing on his shoulder one final time.

"Remember Foxy, optimism."

With that, a voice that Argos and Horton were well-acquainted with swam above the crowd outside.

"-out of the North tunnel, we've got… The Streets-"

The cheering was completely deaf to the vulpine's ears at this point.

'No turning back now.'

"-and introducing some fresh blood on the South side, The Castaways!"

The grimy metal gate that barred Foxy from the arena began lifting. As soon as it cleared his head, Foxy walked on through.

"Foxy is the sole combatant of his team, being backed by the fabled metalworkers Horton and Argos! Let us see if he can live up to the legends at his side."

The sudden roar of the audience at the mere mention of those names was enough to make Foxy's remaining ear fold over the back of his head. The idea of them really being so famous still felt surreal to him.

As the black and red wolf on the podium continued his speech, Foxy's eyes were drawn to a pair of long yellow ears. In a large sectioned off area in the crowd, high up above the rest of the seats in some sort of overlooking balcony, a yellow rabbit sat with his head propped up on his fist. He stared right back at Foxy with a gaze of morbid curiosity.

He looked painfully similar to Goldie, save for his fur somehow being even grimier than the ursine's to the point it seemed more like a light-green than it did yellow.

Now just a bit off from the center of the arena, Foxy stopped. He looked at his opponents from across the sand, a good 10 or so feet away, and eyed that damn cat. He was giving Foxy a glare that would burn a hole right through him, were the feline intimidating in any sense.

"If looks could kill," Foxy mocked.

Foxy had enough of him for now. He shifted his eyes to the bull, who absolutely towered over the cat, and felt the sudden realization of the genuine danger he was in. That bull was the real threat here, that much was for certain.

The feline had some kind of spear with him, one that clearly hadn't seen much use before. Given their little scuffle the other day, he wasn't likely to be a threat at all.

The bull, however, would be a different story. Presumably, he'd charge at him for a brute force attack. That slab of metal he had at his side that looked as if he tore it off a building only moments ago. Getting hit with that didn't seem fun, especially with the jagged edges on one side.

As the announcer's speech neared its end, Foxy prepared himself. His brace was secure, and the gears were wound up in case he needed the hook. He gripped his sword tightly, unsheathed it from its scabbard, and readied his stance.

"-Steel yourselves fighters! the fight begins at the leader's command."

Foxy glanced back up at the filthy yellow hare, who still had his eyes locked on the vulpine. He had that ever-familiar shit-eating grin plastered on his face. Though, compared to Goldie, it indicated something far more threatening. He glared at Foxy with a sardonic smile, like one would look at an odd bug they found before stepping on it.

With seeming reluctance, Spring Bonnie turned away from Foxy, looking to the wolf who awaited his confirmation to begin the fight.

He raised his hand, and gave a thumbs up.

"Entertain me."

"BEGIN!"

Foxy tensed up. Immediately, the two combatants in front of him charged. The cat bolted straight at Foxy, and the bull veered to the side.

Against his preference, he planted a foot behind him. This would have to be played out defensively. The cat angled his spear at Foxy, lunging at him to close the distance, but only struck sand as the vulpine side-stepped his attack. The fox raised his arm, preparing to drive his sword through the feline's chest and finish this quickly.

'I got this.'

Before he could even get his footing after the dodge, the bull charged in. Quickly steering himself into them both with utter disregard for his teammate, the bull slammed the edge of his metal slab into the dirt only inches away from Foxy.

It seemed to get a rise out of the audience, but it never reached the vulpine's ear.

He dodged that out of pure luck.

His footing had already been off balance, with the sheer force of the slam right next to him, it was just enough to completely knock Foxy down to the sand. He scrambled to get up, narrowly avoiding the cat who dislodged his spearhead from the ground and swung at the vulpine's head.

Foxy stepped back, only to find the bull had already repositioned there behind him. The metal slab was already raised in the air, the bull brought it down on him with full force.

There wasn't enough time to avoid that. Foxy did the first thing that came to mind, and tried blocking it.

With all the force bashing into him in an instant, Foxy's arms and legs nearly buckled under the weight. He was holding it off with the bracer on his forearm, barely holding himself up with his arms propped up on each other, and his legs digging against the ground. He heard a creaking whine of bent metal coming from his arms that was concerning to say the least, but nowhere near as much as the sharp cracking noise coming from his legs.

A piece of his knee broke off, kicking a bit of sand and dust into the air as it landed.

'Fuck.'

The bull was pressing all his weight onto Foxy's comparatively tiny frame. It wasn't even a contest of strength between them, more so a countdown to the vulpine being flattened.

With all his attention on the bull, Foxy barely even noticed the cat coming at him again, poised to turn the vulpine into a scrap kebab.

The feline charged, shouting a multitude of crass insults as he plunged his spear at Foxy. Fortunately, the two combatants had next to no coordination with each other. Before the bull even realized that the cat was there, he already kicked his foot at Foxy, opting to knock the fox over and try flattening him.

Instead, Foxy was knocked right into the cat, narrowly missing the spear, and launching them both tumbling into the sand a few feet apart.

Again, Foxy scrambled to get up, quickly finding him and the cat staring each other down. He glanced down. The spear was between them both. They looked back at each other, and instantly knew what was about to happen.

The two of them made a mad dash. Foxy ran like no other, he had this in the bag-

Crack!

Another piece of the vulpine's knee joint broke off, causing him to stumble and fall over himself, landing right in front of the spear.

Before he could reach for it, the cat grabbed it off the ground, kicking sand into Foxy's face and driving the spear at him with all his weight. Foxy rolled out of the way, grabbing the opposite end of the spear, and pulled it towards himself. The cat fell forward, arms out. Foxy saw his chance. He gripped his blade and slashed at the cat.

The crowd suddenly roared, cheering and yelling. Two black-furred forearms fell onto the ground, pools of fluid soaking into the sand from their open gashes.

The cat had barely begun to scream at the stubs he now had for arms before Foxy plunged his blade into the feline's back, finishing him off and getting back onto his feet in one motion.

The fox flicked his sword at the ground, throwing the excess fluid off of the blade. He could hear Horton yelling something from the sidelines behind the gate, but he couldn't make it out. Every sound was drowned out in the fox's mind as he stumbled in place a bit, struggling to stand still from how messed up his legs were.

He turned the other way to look for the bull.

Who, he quickly found, was charging at him, mid-swing with the metal slab.

The sound of a loud whack overlaid with a brief yell of pain brought the audience into a wild frenzy of cheering and booing. Foxy grit his teeth as he felt a short-lived freefall before hitting the dirt.

Meanwhile, Horton watched from the South tunnel with his fingers pointed to a steeple, pressed against where his beak would be behind his coat collar. Foxy had just gotten his legs broken off and launched a good teen feet or so backward, while the rest of his body landed even further. Argos stood with his arms crossed, eyes fixated on the fight as a scowl crossed his mouth.

'Get up.'

The red vulpine wasn't moving. Fluid was leaking from his joints and staining the sand.

"Get. Up," Argos thought, out loud this time. His cut tail flicked behind him.

The owl next to him merely shook his head.

"Get up, damnit!"

The crowd had gotten quieter, wondering if this would be the end to a short match. Did the highly sought-after Horton and Argos really produce a fighter that couldn't even win a primary elimination round?

[System recovered. Hardware failure detected.]

[Emergency boot initiated.]

[Objective retained.]

[Survive.]

The vulpine's golden eyes snapped open.

The ringing in his one ear hadn't stopped yet, but he could feel the thundering feet of the bull coming to finish him off. He was charging right for the legless vulpine, on all fours this time for every ounce of momentum he could build.

A last second idea entered Foxy's dazed mind. He flexed his hand. He still hadn't let go of his sword. Good.

'I can do this.'

He pushed himself up, raising his left arm and plunging the blade of his sword into the sand, deep enough that it wouldn't budge. He held onto it tightly. He didn't have his legs to ground him anymore, so this would have to work, or else he was done for.

Foxy kept as low to the ground as he could. His right arm extended backwards in anticipation.

The bull was about to hit him.

At the last moment, Foxy flicked his wrist. The hay hook shot into his hand and he grabbed it tight, shoving it upward at the exact moment the bull cleared over him. The crowd went silent.

The pained screeching of metal on metal was the only sound Foxy heard as he sliced a jagged line along the bull's gut. His adversary let out a roar of agony, the entire length of his chest to his belly being ripped open. Oil spilled out, drenching Foxy and the sand around him in the jet-black fluid. The bull choked, his footsteps getting slower as he dragged his own internals along the sand, before finally dropping into a fluid-stained puddle, dead.

"I did it," he muttered.

The fox laid back onto the sand, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. His senses slowly returned, the crowd absolutely losing its mind over what just happened, and the approaching shouts of Horton and Argos both bombarding his ear at once.

His vision began fluttering in and out of focus, and the lights above him suddenly felt a lot brighter than before. Horton's familiar horn-like plumage entered into view, his face hard to see with the lights above.

"I thought I said to avoid the attacks!"

The half-conscious vulpine shot a wry grin back at Horton.

"I killed him with a door," the russet vulpine mumbled.

"..."

"I think I'm gonna sleep now."

Argos backhanded him.

"No, you aren't. Stay awake until we can patch you up."

Foxy's thumbs-up toward Argos was the last thing he saw before the darkness encompassed him.

The sensation that dragged Foxy back into semi-consciousness was a chunk of his leg dragging across the sand. He was moving, apparently. Foxy struggled to lift his head, seeing both Horton and Argos holding him up by each arm as they carried him out of the arena. In Argos' free hand was a hempen sack, full of what sounded like a bunch of metal parts.

He didn't have the strength to speak, only really enough to let out a weak groan.

"That's a good sign…"

"He's gonna be okay, Horton. We just have to be quick."

"...Ever the optimist."

There was probably room for a joke in there somewhere, but Foxy was too tired to think of it.

Something caught Foxy's eyes, a blurry group of figures not too far off. He stared at them, trying to make out what he was looking at.

It was another fox, a far darker shade of crimson red fur coating their body. A grey hawk stood by, and a jade-blue lizard next to the hawk.

At least, that's what he thought he saw. By the time he realized they were there, his vision had left him once again.

A/N: Everybody say thanks to SpaceCat010! This story wouldn't be anywhere near as well written as it is without him, especially this chapter. Also important to mention that as they've been present a couple times now, Mikhail is RedCaptain5's OC. I intend to use them, since they were a part of the original story, but they'll be different, like most characters in my version. I'm making sure to change them in good faith to the original work though, so no worries there.

Anyways, you all know the drill: Please leave a review if you can, praise or critique alike! You have no idea how helpful and appreciated they are. Feedback means the world to me.