Chapter 8. Bron-Y-Aur Stomp

The metal door gave a screeching whine as it was dragged across the dry ground, the chain that had once secured it closed now rattling like gunfire against the crude grate.

The mellow light from the torch seemed as bright as the sun at noon to Levi's gloom-adjusted gaze, and he squinted against the assault. The guard was backlit, just a beastly form without a face in the doorway, but Levi knew the man could see everything in the small cell. Mikasa was silent beside him, and for whatever reason neither of them moved despite his earlier promise of a fight.

The jailor chuffed the air like some laboring dog, large arms swinging at his sides as he turned about. Levi heard the clattering of chains. "Hands out," the man barked, an opened cuff in each of his meaty paws.

Levi hesitated, resisting the urge to look at Mikasa. There was nowhere to hide in this dirt closet of a prison cell, and the torch on the wall did not spare any corners.

"Oi! You fuckin' deaf now?" The guard shook the handcuffs in Levi's face. "And who the hell you talkin' to in here, anyway, shortfuck? Havin' little conversations with yourself?" the man rasped as he closed the cold metal around Levi's proffered wrists.

"Just trying to tune out whatever shitty thing you were attempting to whistle."

The meatiness of the man's hand didn't seem to soften the intensity of his clout, and Levi heard Mikasa gasp as his head was knocked sideways. The guard didn't even react to her outburst, and Levi couldn't help but grin despite his bloodied mouth.

He couldn't see her.

"Stupid dog," grumbled the jailor, giving the chain connecting the cuffs a firm yank. "You're fightin' again tonight. The boss is here to watch this one, so best quit yammerin' and start gittin' your ass out to the ring."

He worked his jaw, grimacing against the metallic tang coating his teeth, and turned his head to give Mikasa a meaningful look, mumbling: "I'll make sure to follow you."

He didn't have time to see her reaction before the jailor was pulling him forward. "Nice try, dog, but I'll be the one followin' you. Don't want ya wrappin' those chains around my neck like the savage you are. Go on, git goin', you know the way by now." Indeed, he did.

Not for the first time, Levi found himself wishing for a bath. Focusing for too long on the layers of grime made him want to peel his own skin off in frenzied disgust. He nearly had, too, only a moment ago in front of Mikasa. If it wasn't for the hair-raising sensation of supreme discomfort on the back of his neck he would have felt ashamed by his display of weakness.

He pushed the thought aside and focused on the rhythmic rattle of his chains as he walked. He wished to see Mikasa's face, take in her expression as she trailed behind them through the massive catacombs of the Underground that the Redeemers called their base.

No doubt she would be just as dumbstruck as he had been the first time when she saw how organized they were. This wasn't a ragtag group of rebels hiding out in abandoned tunnels; in fact, their sparring corners and regimented soldiers were surprisingly similar to the structure of the Survey Corps, the most jarring difference being their crimson attire instead of the green capes bearing the Wings of Freedom.

He really wished to see her face when they rounded the corner on the ring.

However orderly and militant the rest of the encampment appeared, this was a paragon of human violence and turpitude.

Fight rings were common in the Underground—Kenny had frequented a few, as there was almost always side deals along with the bets—but never had Levi partaken in the savagery. While Kenny had considered the ventures part of Levi's "education," he thankfully never put him in the ring, just let the boy soak in the sight of men at war—teeth bared in bloody rage, torn fists raised in victory or dragging the dirt in defeat.

Levi pushed aside all thoughts of his uncle and his lessons as they stopped before the ring. Already a good crowd had gathered; by now word had spread of Levi's undefeated record, and men lined up to place bets on the strongest Redeemer who thought himself capable of felling the short man with the "fists of iron."

"Last call for bets! Last call for bets!" bellowed a man from somewhere in the throng of people. The jailor placed a fleshy hand on Levi's shoulder and pulled him to a standstill, setting to work removing the cuffs. Levi used the moment to look for Mikasa, making like he was merely observing the crowd.

"Levi," came her agitated voice from his left, and he was relieved that she hadn't disappeared. She was regarding him and the scene with wide eyes, scarf still clutched in her hands, and he wished he could say something to her without alerting the jailor.

The cuffs were off, falling to the dirt with a muffled clang, and the crowd cheered as if the jailor had just unleashed some kind of beast. Feeding the frenzy, the man lifted his meaty arms and bellowed, as if the uproar was all for him.

Despite the depravity, the acrid stench of blood and piss and unwashed bodies, Levi couldn't stifle the cold rush of adrenaline running through his veins as he was pushed into the ring. Mikasa followed him into his corner of the enclosure, and he could feel a similar kind of charge emanating from her as she kept close to his side.

"Listen to me," Levi ground through his teeth, careful to keep his lip movement to a minimum. "The man up there on the parapet," he jerked his chin in the direction, masking the movement by rolling his shoulders and flexing out his hands as if he were loosening up for the fight. "That's Rikard. He was there with the red woman when I met her. He's important. Her confidant, maybe. And they look like fucking twins, so they have to be related."

Mikasa's eyes trailed over the low balustrade built into the rock wall, focusing in on the red-haired man overlooking the ring. "Where's the woman? Is she with him?"

Levi shook his head. "Dunno." He kept his response short as the umpire entered the ring, the house once more yelling in excitement. He waited until the man had turned away to speak again. "If you disappear, you tell Erwin everything."

"I'm not leaving you, Heichou—"

"Mikasa!" His voice was a desperate hiss, and he pressed himself practically into her body so that she'd hear his whispered words above the mass of spectators. "Have a little faith in me."

There was an odd prickling sensation on the back of his head as he locked eyes with her—an awareness of everything and yet nothing but her.

For a terrifying moment, he thought she might vanish before his eyes, but then the umpire was shouting something and the spell broke, the prickling fading to a dull hum in the recesses of his mind.

"The bets have been placed! This should be a good fight, folks," the stocky referee bellowed. "For the second time tonight, let's see what the Black Dog is made of!"

The crowd erupted into a mix of cheers and hisses as the umpire directed his hand toward Levi. He rolled his neck again, not for show but just to ease the ache of his shoulder—it was a wonder the damn thing hadn't popped out again with all the fighting he'd been doing.

There was a clamoring on the far side of the ring as people moved aside for the intended opponent. More whistles and applause came from the spectators as not one but two men entered onto the soft dirt. They were both of a similar build, about average height, but clearly no amateur fighters, their exposed arms and torsos revealing lean, corded muscle.

"You have to fight them both?" Mikasa's incredulous voice was near his ear, and he could feel her hand working into her scarf.

Levi didn't look at her, just watched as the two men took their positions in the ring, completing the triangle around the umpire. "Have a little faith in me," he repeated, slightly affronted. These men may have had height on their side, and therefore a longer reach, but Levi had the advantage of speed and compact muscle.

The umpire looked up to the parapet, to Rikard—the potentate on his perch—and Levi watched as the red-haired man gave a curt nod. Begin. The umpire gave a sharp whistle through his teeth, sweeping his arm into the air and backing away from the center of the ring.

Mikasa copied the action and moved away to the edge of the ring, giving him space. Levi had the unreasonable urge to pull her back. The two men before him assumed orthodox stances, alive on their toes as they edged closer to him like two alley cats cornering a mouse.

This would be one of the harder fights, Levi realized sourly. The men he'd fought so far had been sluggers—brutish, but slow—and Levi's speed and stature had served him well in those fights. But these men were out-fighters with the leaner builds of someone like Jaeger or Kirschtein, and they'd have an easier time matching his agility.

The one to his left, however, kept his back foot turned inward at an awkward angle—his posturing was excellent, but his footwork was lazy. Levi tucked the information away and shifted his focus to the other man.

He was notably younger than Lazy Footwork—just a kid, really, younger than Mikasa. His form was considerably better than his confederate's, but his age showed in his eagerness. He'd tire quickly. He'd go down quickly.

That was assuming Levi didn't flag first; it was two against one and he wasn't exactly in top form.

Levi feinted left, planting his dominant foot before quickly changing his stance and lunging the opposite way toward the younger man. His opponent was caught off guard by his switch-hitter move, defense dropping and leaving his face completely exposed for Levi's left fist.

The young man's head snapped back from the force of the strike just as Lazy Footwork moved in to attack. Levi was ready, pivoting away from the man's uppercut and capturing his arm before delivering a swift kick to the back of his knees, sending him sprawling.

The audience was rabid, shouts ranging from encouragement to instructions to expletives filling the ring. Levi caught more than one exclamation of "Black Dog!" but it was difficult to differentiate the taunts from the acclaim. He bristled at the appellation, not for the name itself but rather for people's inveterate love for giving things a label.

Nonetheless, he supposed being called a dog was rather fitting considering his origins. Wouldn't Kenny be proud, he thought bitterly. There were no rules in this ring, no play unfair or trick too dirty. And Levi had a lot of dirty tricks.

The downed man recovered well, which wasn't necessarily surprising—despite his years on the youth, he was by no means doddering, maybe only a decade older than Levi. He was a man still within his prime, and what he lacked in footwork he made up for in the velocity of his strikes, elbow following through after a bluff jab and nearly catching the side of Levi's head.

Instinct made him turn, and he managed to avoid the cross of the now recovered younger man. Levi ducked and arched his right leg upwards, catching the youth's jaw with his foot. The blow made a resounding crack and elicited a gasp from several onlookers.

"Levi, your right!" Mikasa shouted the warning from somewhere behind him, but he was too slow to react—Lazy Footwork collided into his side at full force, and both of them fell into the powdery dirt, sending a plume of the dust into the air.

The man made to straddle Levi's chest but was easily disarmed with a blow to the ribs. Levi scrambled to his feet before the younger man could join the tuffle and felt his shoulder protest. He danced away from his adversaries, teeth gritted in pain, backing around the ring as he tried to conserve his energy, which was waning at an alarming rate. His sides ached from previous rounds, and the fall to the ground had tweaked his shoulder again.

His weakened state must have been obvious to his opponents; the Black Dog was slowing down, there was a chance for a victory here. It was galvanizing.

There was only so much ducking and rolling Levi could do in his condition, and finally he was knocked to his ass when he failed to evade a powerful jab from Lazy Footwork. His shoulder made an odd clicking sound as Lazy ripped him from the ground, snaking his lean arms around Levi's and effectively restraining them.

Front exposed and arms trapped behind his back, Levi was now wide open for the kid's ruthless onslaught. He was nothing but a punching bag, a piece of meat for the youth to wail on. The younger man's age was his greatest asset here—he probably could have kept this up for hours, just swinging jabs and crosses until his hands broke.

It was an odd time to be thinking of a bath, but that was where Levi's thoughts went. Not a shower but a bath. If he ever got out of this wretched pit, he would pour himself a nice, hot bath and he'd stay in it until every last layer was peeled away and then some, leaving his flesh raw. And he'd probably do it again, fresh water and hotter still.

The din of the audience kept dipping in and out each time the kid landed a punch to Levi's gut, his face, his sides. His vision was blurring, senses dulling, but not even the rage he felt for his debility could snap him into action.

But one voice stood out amongst the clangor, a voice only he could hear. Her voice. She was shouting at him, bellowing his name in anger, in desperation. He caught sight of Mikasa from over the youth's shoulder after recovering from a second blow to the jaw. Her face was wild, the same face she wore in battle—eyes aflame and teeth bared like some glorious hellcat.

"Heichou!" There was a clear note of hysteria in her voice, a tone he'd never heard from Mikasa Ackerman, and he saw the way she shuffled and dodged around in the dirt like a prancing horse, scarf stuffed into her back pocket so that her hands were free to clench and flail uselessly—she knew there was nothing she could do to help him and it was driving her mad. "Get out of there!"

Another hook to his side.

"Come on, fight!" Her voice cracked in despair, fists clenching in some unconscious defense as the youth went in again for yet another uppercut.

It hadn't been that long, half a minute maybe, but it felt like ages that he'd been trapped in the man's unrelenting vise as the youth continued to pummel away.

"LEVI!" She was crying now, his name a broken, bloody thing on her tongue as she begged.

If you win, you live. If you lose, you die. If you don't fight, you can't win…

"Mikasa…" He'd barely breathed her name, and even if he'd had the strength to shout, the noise from the spectators would have been difficult to overcome. And yet she heard him. She so clearly heard him, he could tell by the way her mouth parted and her breath caught. He could hear it catch.

That prickling sensation at the back of his head was back once more, only this time he didn't try to suppress it. He focused on the dull hum, pulling it toward him until it howled louder than the crowd and surged against his eyes and under his skin.

Gone were the shouts from the Redeemers ringside, the grunts from the kid as he swung—only the sound of her breath remained, which he heard in his ear though she stood several feet away from him. And Levi could have laughed in relief as the weakness suddenly left his bones and was replaced by that familiar burn of power.

He timed it, incredibly sure of himself now, waited until the youth pulled back his fist for another strike, opening up. He let himself go limp in Lazy Footwork's arms, using the slight give in the man's restraint to press back quickly and kick up his feet, his right foot shooting forth like an arrow and connecting with the kid's nose.

Crack.

The noise of the crowd returned to his ears instantly, the deafening uproar rivaled only by the choking scream from the youth's lungs. The arms restraining him loosened significantly. Levi didn't wait for the man to recover from his shock as he whipped his head back and was met with another sickening crack. Lazy's hands fell away completely as he cradled his own broken nose.

Levi really couldn't remember how he got the man on the ground, didn't really remember the exact combination of moves he'd used to completely flatten him, but the man wasn't moving anymore and that was good enough for Levi. He could have been dead, unconscious—he didn't bother determining which, just set his sights on the younger man. He had broken both their noses, he would put them both down. He was all fire—pure, white-hot rage and animalistic hunger.

Levi straddled the youth, no quarter in his assault, his fist nothing but a hammer upon a nail. He was vaguely aware of the umpire pawing at his shoulder, but his elbow to the man's cheek quickly got rid of the distraction. Several more hands seized his arms but they were quickly removed in a similar fashion.

In all, it took about four Redeemers to pry Levi away from their young comrade, and even still it was a struggle to wrangle him onto his back. He caught a flash of black hair—Mikasa. He jerked and writhed against the men holding him, desperately trying to catch sight of her, to hear her voice again.

Despite his crazed, drunken state of fury, Levi retained enough sense to not call out for her. Yet his throat ached for it, needed to utter the syllables of her name. The face that appeared before him, however, looming like a monstrous bird of prey and blocking what was left of his limited view, was decidedly not Mikasa.

"My, my, my," Rikard intoned, smiling like he'd swooped and caught a mouse in a field. "It is a pity the Red Mother was not here to see that."

Levi channeled all the burning hate through his glare, straining against the men pinning his limbs. Rikard only chuckled, a grating sound deep within his throat, clearly enjoying the sight of his struggle. The power was slowly leaving his body, draining away like sand through a sieve and leaving him more exhausted than before.

"However, I do think she'll be more than pleased when she hears about this...development." He regarded the men huddled next to them, seeking a reaction, and they all nodded doggedly. Pleased with the response, Rikard moved away from Levi and ordered over his shoulder, "return him to the cell."

The Redeemers complied wordlessly, the two holding Levi's arms lifting him to standing. The fight was gone from him, and when he stood he saw that most of the crowd had left as well. He didn't see either of his opponents. Nor did he see Mikasa.

"Oh, and give the dog a bath. He's fucking filthy," Rikard added without turning around, striding out of the ring. Levi didn't have the strength to be offended, the anticipation of a bath in any form the only thing keeping him from passing out.

He was escorted to a different cell, slightly larger than the previous one and possessing a proper door, but the light was just as bad here and the air carried the familiar stench of mold and wet. The bed in the corner was nothing but a slim pallet—not that he was complaining at this point, anything was better than curling up in the dirt after getting the shit kicked out of you.

The jailor from before unlocked the cell and his escorts tossed him in unceremoniously. "The bucket for your business is in the corner. We'll bring you another one for you to wash up in and somethin' to wear," the meatus rasped, slamming the barred door shut, locking him inside. "If you're good, we might even bring you somethin' to eat."

Levi wasn't hungry, but he knew that would probably change once he'd washed. Alone now in the cold, quiet cell, he realized Mikasa must have disappeared again.

He slumped gracelessly onto the hard pallet bed, every muscle in his body aching and his nose still bleeding freely. His head pounded, but there was also a distinct thrumming at the back of his skull that he could differentiate from the pain—a familiar tug against his mind.

Had he been stronger, he would have pulled on the tether, would have attempted to open up that connection again. At least he knew now the two were connected. He wondered if Mikasa could feel it too, wondered if she had felt him the way he'd felt her. He still remembered the delicate sound of her breath catching in her throat.

Some indeterminable amount of time had passed—he'd fallen asleep still sitting, slumped slightly over his bent legs. The jailor dropped the bucket at his feet with a loud clatter, water sloshing dangerously, jarring Levi awake.

The man also brought a stool, placing on its surface a bowl full of murky soup and a cup of water. He had, indeed, brought clothes, and he tossed the garments onto Levi's legs. Just a shirt and some pants, but they seemed reasonably clean. The jailor didn't spare a word before leaving again.

Levi didn't move for a while, not even to bathe. He rested his forehead against his fist heavily, elbow propped upon his knee, caught between the fine edge of sleep and wakefulness.

Finally, he found a vestige of strength and pulled himself to his knees, grasping the bucket and finding that a gray, threadbare rag and a small block of soap had been included in the water. It was hardly what he would call a bath, but he'd take what he could get at this point.

As he set to soaping and scrubbing his arms, careful of the bruises and injuries littering his skin, he became gradually aware of someone observing him. He ignored them for a moment, letting the cold water return him to his senses as he splashed it over his face.

He hissed in pain when the water cast over his damaged features, watching in disgust as the liquid turned from clear to a muddy pink in the bucket.

Mind slightly clearer, Levi finally turned his head to seek the eyes of his observer. There were multiple cells lining the hall, he realized. He wondered just how many prisoners these Redeemers obtained.

The cell directly across from his was almost completely dark, but he knew it wasn't vacant. There was a glint of amber as the pair of eyes he sought finally caught the light of the torch in the hall.

"Oi. Dennard."

A/N: As promised, a quick-as-I-can chapter update. Can't speak to its quality, but there ya go. Hope you enjoyed. I'm already almost through with the next one, so hopefully I'll have another update for ya asap. Things are really gonna start heating up for our duo...in many ways...

As always, thank you for your support and feedback. muah