Chapter 11: Battle Royale
The nobleman organizer, Mr Lucius, was rubbing his chin thoughtfully as Figus hobbled out of the ring, and he gazed down at Magnus, who was staring right back at him. He had no idea as to who this strange man was, only that he had soundly thrashed all the thugs who had been assigned to guard the entrance, and had merely hung around.
But then, who he was wasn't what mattered. He was another challenger to increase the betting, and that was all he cared about. He had to have been tough to get through the guards, so Lucius wouldn't be surprised if he took out a champion or three before one of his more skilled warriors dealt with him. Until then, he'd play the part of the ringmaster, and give the dregs what they wanted.
"It seems you have an ally in luck," he addressed Magnus, "But it was no great feat to defeat Figus, a relative newcomer himself. You can hardly call that an achievement. But if you manage to beat this fighter, than you may have some skill. I bring you, good people of the fight pit…Dragus!"
And with a thundering of cheers, out stepped a stooped hulking beast of a man. Actually, this Dragus was a half-orc, with a squat nose, sunken eyes, and uneven teeth. He was a rough ornery warrior, who was only there to feel the thrill of the fight, and revel in his opponent's blood. Dragus was wearing standard leather armor, and was holding a big black spear, with a wicked serrated tip.
With a snort, and whirling his weapon over his head, having no intension of playing to the crowd, Dragus began circling the ring, going around Magnus, who didn't oblige him by circling with him. Magnus stood straight as a rail, staring straight forward, finding this challenger more than slightly beneath him. He was actually expecting this half-orc to wait until he was directly behind him before attacking, bur instead Dragus was right in his line of sight before he charged.
The spear tip was leveled for his chest, driving in, ready to run him through. Magnus waited for a moment, before he glided forward, slithering with chilling agility across the ring, his right forearm getting under the spear, and lifting it upward and to the side. The point went wildly off target, missing Magnus utterly, and leaving Dragus in both a bad position and with a quite comical look of realization on his face.
A moment later, Magnus's balled up left fist rammed right into Dragus's midsection, punching a hole right through the flimsy armor, just at the base of the ribcage. With a wheeze and choke, Dragus fell to his knees, spear dropping, as he clutched his gut, trying to coax his body into breathing.
He was harshly gasping for air, trying to breathe, but with only minor success. Drool oozed out of his mouth, falling to the dust, his watery eyes bulging in pain. Eventually he got his wind back, though slowly, and the moment he could move again, he scrambled back and away from Magnus, his eyes having fear seeded within. He ran back through the door he had come from. The crowd's booing was so thick; one could almost see it hanging in the air. Magnus waited…
Above him, Lucius was surprisingly pleased that the fight was over so fast. That meant using another warrior, and making bets faster. He still wasn't worried.
"I can see now," Lucius noted with wry amusement, calling down once again, "How you were able to get past our obstinate door guards. But you are very much mistaken if you believe that you will be leaving this arena alive, much less intact. You have yet to face the most hardened of fighters who have ever graced this ring, spilling blood much more formidable than yours. Cling to your victories while you have the chance, as very few have every managed to pass your next opponent!"
Then, turning back to the crowd, he lifted his voice to a practiced tone of overzealous announcement, "I now call upon a fighting champion of great prestige to deal with this renegade once and for all. I summon to the ring…Quarrel!"
The door to the fighter-prep room opened once again, and out stepped an almost absurdly dashing and handsome man. Styled blonde hair, arched up in a flowing wave, a glossy scarlet tunic with silver tassels, fine dark slacks and high polished boots of superior quality. Even a dark azure cape was draped over his shoulders, clasped at the throat, fluttering dramatically out behind him.
The man was young, and the way he looked, dressed, and even his actions all but screamed that he was of noble blood. Even his weapon of choice was a favorite among the aristocratic hierarchy, the rapier, the long thin fencing sword. His though, looked more like a decorative ornament rather than an instrument of battle, and his personage was that of a lyricist rather a combatant.
"Greetings to all," he called out flowingly, waving and bowing at the fans, "I'm so pleased that you've come out to see me this evening. It is truly an honor, truly it is!" He bowed again and again, blew some kisses, waved and gave that pretentious charmingly little laugh, before finally acknowledging Magnus's presence.
"Do you dare to face the grace and deadly skill of the charming Quarrel, or shall you surrender now?" Without even waiting for an answer, he turned to the spectators once more. "What say you, adoring crowd? What shall be the fate of this interloper?"
He began to stride about the ring, once again invoking reaction from the crowd, hamming it up, all but ignoring his opponent.
There was a tap on Quarrel's shoulder.
"Hmmm?" And a moment later the devilishly handsome Quarrel was sailing backwards, crashing through the door from which he had come. Magnus had got tired of waiting, walked up behind him, and as Quarrel turned, he got a fist right in the face. He more than likely didn't know what hit him, and probably he never would, as the blow knocked him silly. Next…
The crowd certainly didn't like that, not one bit, seeing one of their favorite fighters defeated so easily, and several looked ready to scramble over the partition and fight Magnus themselves. The only thing the kept them at bay however, Magnus noticed, was they were too apprehensive and afraid to fight him. He had defeated three champions without even a weapon, so he was obviously tough. But how tough?
"Interesting…And surprising," Lucius offered, finally beginning to wonder at how much farther this mystery man could go, "But that victory was nothing more than taking advantage of his lack of attention, not a true test of skill. You will not get away with that with this great master. Bring in, the deadly Vargo the Great!"
And stepping over the ruins of the door and the unconscious Quarrel was a mountain of a man, a towering behemoth. He wore iron wrought armor, covered from head to toe in thick plates, only his head was exposed, which was so covered with tattoos and scars, one could hardly tell where his head began and where it ended.
His armor was silver with black mess beneath it, adorned with golden trim, making it fearsome and modish both. Gripped in his heavy iron hands was a large wooden stick, a uprooted tree trunk, with a massive bolder lashed to one end, making a crude yet sizable maul; it looking heavy enough to shatter a normal man with one blow. Vargo advanced, lifting his arms, roaring like an animal, but keeping his eyes trained on his target. He approached, grinning down at Magnus, who did not return his smile.
"Now you face Vargo the Great! I'm going to smash this puny simpering runt into mush!" He lifted the great maul over his head, intending to crush Magnus beneath it. Magnus did not oblige him by standing still; quite literally walking out from under the attack, and delivering a stiff but simple kick to the back of Vargo's right knee, causing the brute to fall backwards, crashing to the ground with a boom, flat on his back. And due to his armor, he could not rise again. He could only grunt and squirm, twisting and pushing, growling and cursing as he fruitlessly tried to right himself.
As the prone colossus struggled to regain his feet, Magnus strolled over to one of his thrashing legs, took hold, and began to spin the surprised titan around and around, releasing him up towards the mortified crowd. People went scurrying for cover with terrified yells, the falling giant acting as a human catapult stone. Whatever he struck upon landing must have been reduced to rubble. He did not rise again from the wreckage in the stands.
Everyone, Lucius included was stunned with open mouths. There was dead silence.
"This is ridiculous," Magnus called up to Lucius, his voice powerful and commanding breaking into the quiet, his patience for this idiocy wearing thin, "I didn't come into this ring to face off against your side-show freaks. I am here to face a warrior worth his sword, and instead you throw these bar-hopping rejects at me, passing them off as fighters. Don't tell me that these are the best that this meager barnacle shack has to offer. What a joke."
"Be careful what you ask for," Lucius answered back, feeling a twinge of temper rising at the comment, "You haven't faced the best of my men. Rest assured your life still hangs by a thread. It merely hasn't been snapped yet."
"You said you were going to have me killed," Magnus reminded him, "I'd prefer you just send out someone who was capable of doing the job instead of these morons. Quit embarrassing yourself, you pompous jackass." Magnus actually wasn't upset, a bit annoyed, but he wasn't one to stoop to name-calling. He was merely trying to goad the manager into getting serious. It seemed to have worked.
"Fine," Lucius was now getting quite riled up, "You want to die? Very well, then try this." He then yelled out, not even bothering with addressing the crowd any longer, "Sola! Rava! Get out here, the both of you and teach this fool what it means to enter my ring!"
From out of the opening to the fighter staging area, now lacking a door courtesy of Quarrel, out stepped two women of striking features. The first was the taller, dangling blonde hair pulled back in a pony tail, wearing low cut leather armor, and sparse leggings, leather boots coming up to mid-calf, and holding two short swords of fine quality. Her air was playful interest towards Magnus; a tentative cocky smile was looking him over with pale jade eyes, as she strode out.
The other was much fiercer in both appearance and expression. She had fiery orange hair, far shorter and messier than the first, wearing dark studded armor, still showing a fair amount of bronze skin, and she had a wicked smile, her violet eyes burning as bright as fire. She had a bastard sword clenched in one hand, and a scimitar in the other.
Magnus watched these voluptuous warriors enter the ring, and gave them a charming smile and courteous bow. Self-discipline and his goal of fighting Dalan Noh aside, this was more to his liking. Even if they knew next to nothing about battle, at least they were both easy on the eyes.
"Oh my," the blonde, Rava breathed, "You're a handsome one…And you beat the others? Powerful then too. It takes a lot to rile Lucius up enough to call us out. You must have been very naughty."
"He looks weak to me," the redhead, Sola commented with scrutiny, "Kinda scrawny…Maybe it was just a fluke…"
"Maybe. What do you think? Are you tough?" Magnus shrugged, lifting his hands out.
"As tough as I need to be. But if you'd like, you can test me yourself."
"That's why we're here, darling. I hope you're ready, this might…sting a little…" And with a nod to Sola, both women came in simultaneously, drawing back their weapons and lunging in for the kill.
Magnus watched their far more fluid motions carefully, and managed to lean out of range of their singing steel, but had to retreat a few steps to escape their follow up attacks. After striking, they didn't rush, keeping their guard up, waiting for a possible counterattack. These two did know how to fight, much more than the buffoons earlier. And without using his powers, Magnus didn't think he'd be able to take them with naught but his bare hands. They began chasing him all over the ring, he falling back from their twin assault, coming very close to losing some loose hairs.
He spun and ducked at the same time, passing precariously close to the wall spines, but managed to snag a morning star on his first rotation, and a battle-axe on his second, recovering and bringing both weapons to bear the moment before his head was cleaved and his torso gutted. With a simple push, his newfound strength coming into play, both women were tossed back across the ring, but not enough to cause them to loose their balance, their boots kept to the ground, digging ruts in the sand to slow their skidding.
Magus twirled both his weapons, and waited. They exchanged glances before coming in again. They picked up the pace, and their fighting was polished. Rava was more elegant, twirling her short swords in delicate arcs, her role was to press Magnus hard, and force him back, where Sola, the fiercer attacker would take advantage of his lapse in concentration. But Magnus kept both of them at equal length apart, before taking an offensive push. He ducked under Sola's scimitar, before wheeling around to drag his foot across the dirt, she being unprepared for a sweep, and went tumbling down.
She was down for only a second, and in that moment Magnus turned his full attention to Rava, and attacked with both weapons with a strong intensity, more than she was able to handle. She countered a powerful attack, but the shock of the blow made her loose the grip on one of her swords, which went spiraling away.
These two women were able to fight, being very calm and controlled, and had forced Magnus to actually pick up a weapon and fight back. But he wasn't being overwhelmed by their furious and shrewd attacks, and was starting to take control. That couldn't happen.
"Get Elkin," Lucius yelled out, seeing the tides of battle below change, "Get Elkin in there and fight! The three of them should be able to do it!" They have to, he thought, panic starting to rise up, there's no one else…
As the two women were recovering, out stepped Elkin, a man of imposing presence. He wore a dark fur cloak, his own face hidden by a hood. His clothes were equally shadowy, as he stalked out into the midst of the fighting.
As Elkin removed his cloak, revealing a gaunt but deadly serious face beneath, Magnus threw the battle-axe at Sola and the morning star at Rava, both of them pitching forward to dodge. Quick as can be, Magnus hopped back several paces to the wall, and picked up two nicely crafted scimitars, his weapon of choice. They were slightly off balance in their construction, and they felt somewhat shoddy compared to what he was used to, but they would suffice.
Elkin was a pale man, long black hair, almost dripping with grease from being unwashed, and his face was streaked with dirt and ash. A few tuffs of a beard, short and untrimmed, he looked rather similar to Magnus. He pulled out two long swords, twirled them in an impressive fanfare, before simply starting towards Magnus. No rush, no circling, he just simply started to stride forward. Magnus did the same, and the two met in a clash. This guy was good, very good. He matched Magnus blow for blow, move for move, his face never flinching all the while. After a quick round, each nimbly leapt back, to continue staring at one another.
On the outside, this Elkin made no sign, yet Magnus could feel it; this man was impressed that he was still alive. Magnus made the move this time, twirling in low with one sword, ready to make a counter attack with the other. And it was met, and repelled as he knew it would, and when an attack came to him, he was able to send it away harmlessly. The two danced across the floor, the two women fighters were merely watching. After a moment, they rose, and headed for the exit.
"What are you two stupid slags doing?" Lucius yelled from above, "Get back over there and kill him while he's distracted!" Rava shook her head.
"Sorry honey, but we're not that good. That handsome man was just teasing us; he'd tear us apart if we tried. And you don't pay us near enough to make us risk our lives." They continued out.
"No!" Lucius bellowed, his anger swelling beyond control, "No, you uppity whores, get back in there and kill him!"
"What was that?" Sola sharply asked, looking up his way, "Are you looking for us to slice your manhood off, you putrid gutter-trash?" That shut Lucius up in a hurry, and he only continued to glower a smoldering glare at them. Sola tapped her sister. "Come on Rava; let's get out of this dump." And out they went.
Magnus and Elkin ignored this exchange, keeping their eyes and thoughts wholly on their fight. And while it still seemed a stalemate, Magnus was starting to take control. Elkin was fighting hard, but he had not received enhancements to make his body more durable to periods of greater strenuous activities. His precision was still spot on, but the force behind his blows was diminishing.
Plus, Magnus had always prided himself in being a learning animal, and as they raged across the ring, Magnus was studying Elkin's fighting style, analyzing its movements and attack patterns. With little hesitation, Magnus switched his tactics, now fighting with the same sword style as Elkin, throwing him off just enough for Magnus to end the fight with a single thrust of his sword, tearing a long gash across Elkin's left side.
He was only wounded, gripping the bleeding cloth, yet he never made a sound. Not a word, not a whimper, and when he looked at Magnus, he gave a simple nod, a sign of recognition and respect. Magnus returned the nod, and Elkin stood, and with surprisingly little difficultly, though he was trailing blood, walked out of the pit. Once again, dead silence struck the fighting arena; none of the spectators had ever seen such a fight. Even Lucius, still somewhat fearful for his privates, had few words.
"Who are you?" Lucius asked in a daze, his whole lineup had been dealt with in swift fashion, either defeated or scared off; leaving him shocked and stupefied, his air of confidence and superiority having long since faded away. "What are you? Are you even human?" Magnus kicked up some dust with his boots before turning to face him once again.
"Mostly. But I'm not here to answer your inquiries. I'm here to fight. Who's next?" Lucius hated that he was about to say what he was about to say. It was actually the first time he could ever recall saying it. No one had ever passed Elkin. No one.
"No one…There is no one else. You've defeated my pit. Congratulations…" though he didn't sound too happy. I can't believe he won…It's unfathomable. But I have no one else…no one who could win…
Magnus saw this, reading Lucius's mind. "What about Dalan Noh?" he asked quietly, "I understood that he was here. He is why I have come in the first place. Bring him out so that I may fight someone of true skill."
"How do you know he was here?" Lucius demanded, his previous fearful demeanor giving way to bewilderment. "He only arrived here two days ago, and no one save myself has seen him. So how is it you know of him?"
"I already told you, I'm not answering that. I'll be asking the questions and I'm asking now, are you or are you not sending him out? If not, then I'll be going in," pointing to the fighter staging area, "and find him myself. Your choice." Lucius stood there, still very much befuddled, before making a swift glance behind. Magnus was watching him, and seeing that glance, he followed his gaze. There, reclined a few seats behind Lucius's lavish chair was a figure hooded in darkness, booted feet resting on a footstool, most likely staring down into the pit.
At once, without even any pondering, he knew he had found him. Dalan Noh wasn't taking part in this debased entertainment, a spectator only, as if he truly was the worlds greatest swordsman, these petty opponents would be nothing but a nuisance for him to fight. An insult to someone of his skill. But seeing as how Magnus had almost effortlessly defeated them, then maybe he would be viewed as a worthy foe, calling down the swordsman with the tantalizing lure of a real challenge.
"Will you come down?" Magnus called up, "And face me? Either here or somewhere else, I leave it to you…" The shrouded figure did not move or respond. Lucius was fearfully glancing between the demi-god and the sword master, wondering what was going to happen, having never speculated of such an outcome the day he had met the famous warrior.
The mysterious figure answered Magnus's call without a word.
He stood with an unhurried push, stepping forward, up and on to the railing, vaulting over the side, landing in the dust of the pit, directly across from Magnus. With a casual toss, the cloak that had wrapped around the figure was discarded, showing a telltale gleam of silver of a concealed weapon.
Magnus turned to face him. From out of the shadows, stepped…his opponent.