In the Hands of Young Chôjin

By Son Rhandi 

Chapter 12: "Tag Match!!"

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So, has it come to this..?

They circled each other, arms raised in a ready-to-grapple position.

Do all the answers lie in the outcome of this match?

Bighorn rushed in like a hurricane, his arms open wide and ready to capture Checkmate. The chess set wrestler braced his feet in the mat, ready to receive. Suddenly, the horned hombre dropped his head low and made his torso parallel to the floor. He swung his heavy head, ready to send his finely sharpened horn into the unprepared Checkmate. The king managed to make a graceful leap to evade it, however, and sent a foot to Bighorn's face. The beast recoiled in pain, bringing his hands to cover his now sore nose.

Recovering quickly, he began again in the same method as before, only this time he aimed to strike Check's collarbone with a pair of Mongolian chops. The chess set wrestler caught his large hands in either of his palms before the chops could connect, but began to buckle under his opponent's crushing power. He dropped to one knee, that young king, still pushing upward to keep that beastly man from landing a hit. Then, an idea hit him. Instead of resisting, Checkmate did just the opposite and let Bighorn bear his full weight, causing the green creature to fall forward as the chessmaster let his own body fall to its back. Bighorn's forward motion provided for Check's next move. The Bloody Arms wrestler now above him, the king planted both feet on his abdomen and launched the bruiser skyward. Hopping back to his feet, Checkmate transformed to Knight mode and leapt to meet him.

"Pile Driver Stallion Style!!"

That dark knight crushed opponent Bighorn to the canvas mat, landing with a great and fierce rumbling. The first point went to Checkmate and the New Gens, then. Matador wasn't worried, though. His wrestlers were made of stronger steel than that. Even under a pile driver of nearly 1700 pounds, Bighorn could take it, he knew. This tag match, in his mind, would be the prelude to the grand and beautiful Chôjin war he wanted to create. His men would win, and the New Gens' final hopes would rest on the shoulders of Kinniku Mantaro and his line's explosive power. That, too, would end in victory for himself and the Bloody Arms organization, and then their reign would cast its shadow on all the world.

Bighorn slowly rose to his knees and cracked his neck. "Yo, is that all you can do, fella?"

Checkmate was mildly surprised. But then, this was one of the guys who helped to kill Sunshine…

"Hey, Bighorn! Let me join in!" Hoffman barked excitedly from ringside.

"In a minute, in a minute." The green one cracked his knuckles and returned to his opponent. "I want to see some blood before I tag out…"

Checkmate snorted, readying himself to approach the massive man again. "Hey, Check!" Terry leaned over the ring ropes and held out his hand. "I wanna have a go at 'im! Tag me in!"

The knight gave an affirming nod and reverted to King mode, tagging in Terry who was ready to go hog wild. The ol' cowpoke wasted no time. He moved in a blur, the agility and fleet-footedness of his bloodline shining through, and whizzed right past Bighorn, leaping to the top of the ring ropes and setting the Bloody Arms bruiser up for a nasty Calf Branding.

"That won't work, cowboy..!" El Matador called to him in a semi-taunt. As if his boss's statement was the cue, Bighorn smacked his sweaty palms to the canvas as the Kid sent him down, and in one fluid motion, launched himself from his handstand and flipped so that the Texan was underneath him, crushing and pinning the American Chôjin to the mat.

The fact that the Kid was in trouble was as plain as day, so Checkmate took it upon himself to lend a hand. The king vaulted over the cordage and raced toward Bighorn, ready to lay the hurt on him. Before he had the chance, however, the horned hombre sprung up and away from Terry's approaching ally, letting his body fall front first to the mat. Then, Hoffman entered the ring and took his partner by the legs.

"Ready?"

"Mad Thresher!"

In a derivative of a Giant Swing, Hoffman took his partner's legs in the crooks of his arms and swung him 'round and 'round, the other man tucking his head so that the sharp edge of his horn would face just so. Not much room to escape nor time to act, Terry and Check took off in opposite directions. It would be too late for the Kid, it seemed. As he tried to flee, Bighorn's knife-like edge sliced into the side of his thigh and he fell over, blood pouring from the wound. Checkmate, too, was far from being out of the woods. When the timing was right, the hound launched his teammate on a non-stop flight to slice into the king, whose body was half over the ring ropes and in no position to make a fast way out of it. With a bit of quick thinking, the red-clad wrestler pressed the button on his castle shoulder piece and morphed to Rook form, using his Body Separate technique just as the muscle-bound menace came within inches of taking a stab at him, literally. Bighorn sailed right through the newly made gap and right over the edge of the ring, crashing horn first to the floor.

The spectators of the Muscle League gave each other high-fives, while Matador only raked his arm, slightly annoyed that the horse and rider combination had managed to best his best men, not once, but twice. He supposed it mattered little if his wrestlers came out on top in the end. "Bighorn!" The boss man called. "You're still tagged in! Get back in the ring!!"

"Urrg… Right!" Bighorn leapt back to the ring as easily as he'd fallen from it, Hoffman taking his place behind the ropes upon his partner's return.

"How art thee, Terry?" Checkmate wandered over to the Texan.

"I'm fine. I can manage." The Kid slowly returned to his feet. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he cracked his knuckles. "I gots me a match t' win..!" Checkmate nodded and took his leave, switching back over to King once outside the ring. "Ready to go again, feller?" Terry addressed the Bloody Arms bruiser.

"Ha! This time I'll give you more than just a little cut on your leg, you… eh..?"

He'd noticed a few specs were falling in front of his face. Was something crumbling above him? He looked up. The ceiling was intact, no reason for it to be otherwise. Then, it occurred to him: He'd fallen on his horn. But, of course, it couldn't be that… Bighorn chuckled to himself. Still, he put a finger to the side of the impact point just as a test…

The thing practically crumbled to pieces on the mat by that one little touch. He'd landed on the front of his horn with its knife-like edge, it's constitution already weakened by its fine sharpening. One little contact and the thing shattered like a dropped vase.

"Bighorn, what's wrong? Why aren't you fighting?" Ol' dogface inquired. The green one quivered for a bit, then turned to Hoffman, tears gathering in his eyes.

"My… My horn broke!!"

Hoffman slapped his forehead in disbelief. "I told you not to give it such a fine edge! Just forget about it and get back to the match! Our master is watching!"

"I can't..! I feel so ugly!"

"Grrar… Then I'll join you!" Hoffman turned to his master. "Mein Führer! Please allow the duration of this match to be 2-on-2!"

El Matador shrugged. "Do what you want."

"Danke!" The Blood Arms hound joined Bighorn in the ring. This now officially a 2-on-2 match, the king leapt beside Terry. "Let us put an end to this." Checkmate activated both shoulder pieces for the Grand Slam.

"Sure as shootin', Check. I'm dyin' t' go back an' see my dad."

"I'll send you to your father in Heaven, boy!" Hoffman came at him, fangs bared, shoulders stacked, and ready to deliver some pain.

"You ready fer some action, Check?"

"I'm ready to win!"

"Alright!!" Terry raced to meet their dog-faced opponent, the notion of victory driving his charge. Hoffman opened his arms for a grapple, just as the Kid anticipated. Instead of meeting him for resistance, Terry leapt and caught Hoffman's left arm, and with the hound off balance, swung him around then hurled him to Checkmate. "Now!"

The other man nodded, brining his back to face the Bloody Arms bloodhound and gave him a good horse kick skyward, launching Hoffman into the air. With that, Check jumped high above him, setting up his signature move.

"Pile Driver Stallion Style!!"

And with a great rumbling, Hoffman was done, his body driven into the canvas. One down, one to go. Bighorn didn't look to be in any condition to finish this, still grieving over the loss of his horn. Whatever. The less resistance, the better for them. This time, Checkmate was the one to set it off, heaving Bighorn over his stone-cold chest and upward. "Sir Kenyan!"

"Gotcha!" Terry hopped atop the ring ropes and catapulted himself to the beast. A knee behind the head, and go!

"Calf Branding!!"

BAMM--!! The Texas tornado sent that Bighorn's head sinking into the mat like an ostrich with its own in the sand. A ding of the bell, and their match was over. Terry the Kid and Checkmate had managed to best the Animal All-Stars of the Bloody Arms organization, and thus, the final battle was half-won. Mantaro and Seiuchin threw their cheers and congrats out to the victors, and Matador applauded sarcastically.

"Congratulations, Kid, Checkmate…" He began. "The wheel of fortune is turning in your favor, it seems."

"Enough o' that!" Terry said. "You're next up for a heap o' hurtin'!" The man in red smirked. "Is that so?"

El Matador turned his attention to his fallen fighters in the ring, and so, hopped in to see the full extent of their injuries. First, Bighorn. Matador took him by what hair he had and pulled his head out from the mat, turning over his body to face him. "Sir…" The hornless beast choked.

"You really disappointed me today," the boss man began. "I have a question for you: What is Bighorn without his big horn?"

"I… I don't know, sir…"

"I'll tell you what he is: Nothing, and that which becomes nothing no longer exists…" He pulled out his gun and turned Bighorn over again, putting the weapon to the back of his head. "Goodbye, Nothing…"

The others jumped at the blast of the gunshot. He sent a bullet through his head, that Matador, took his life execution-style without a second thought and painted the canvas red with his blood. He carried his still smoking gun over to Hoffman, who hadn't moved an inch since enduring Checkmate's signature move in his Grand Slam form. "Mein Führer…" He managed to smile despite his pitiful state.

"How are you feeling, Hoffman..?" Matador knelt to meet his dog.

"I… I can't feel my legs… I can't move my arms…"

He didn't seem surprised. The boss man returned to stand over the injured mutt. "Hoffman… Do you remember why I asked you to join Bloody Arms?"

"Because you believed I was strong."

"And can you tell me why you were so devoted to Bloody Arms?"

"…Because I believed in you…"

Matador turned his head and chuckled at Hoffman's words. "That's a stupid reason, and exactly what a dog would say…" He lifted his gun-wielding arm and pointed the weapon straight at his forehead. "Repeat after me, Hoffman: The only good dog…"

"The only good dog…"

"…is a dead dog."

A tear ran down Hoffman's cheek as he choked out the last of the sentence. "……is a dead dog …"

BLAM-!! "Again!!"

"The only…good dog… is a dead… dog…"

BLAM-!! "Again!!"

"The only…"

BLAM-!! "I can't hear you, Hoffman!!" BLAM-!! "What's the only--" BLAM-!! "kind of--" BLAM-!! "good dog?"

He grinned as he watched his dog's face become seeped in blood and brain matter. "Good boy, Hoffman."

Matador returned the gun to its holster and came down from the ring to meet with the New Gens. "So, ready for the next match?"

"You……" Seiuchin growled in a quiet rage. "'Evil' doesn't even begin to describe you! Killing your own men who thought the world of you!? Even if they killed our friends, they… no one deserves deaths like those!"

El Matador had to throw his head back and laugh at that one. "You Muscle Leaguers are all the same. You go out with a chivalrous air, thinking you can save everybody, even going as far as defending your enemies! You don't know what you want! But I know what I want… Even if those morons lost, I'll be the one to come out on top in the end! Your pig-faced Mantaro doesn't have a prayer..!"

"Maybe…" Mantaro said, bearing the most solemn expression he'd ever worn. "But I have people waiting back home for me, and a friend who needs a funeral…  Sorry to disappoint you, but I don't plan on dying here."

The bull slayer squared his hands on his hips and smirked. "Don't forget. It's only you now, prince. How this era ends or continues is entirely on your shoulders."

"I won't, just like I'll never forget Gazelle's last words or the tears in Blocken, Jr.'s eyes…" The muscle prince clenched his fists. "…And I won't forget the look on your face when you lose!!"

"We shall see. Come along, now..."