"No way," Kenny said, his blonde locks swaying as he shook his head. "Victor's too nice to be the guard."
Kenny admittedly had a point. Victor had always been friendly. Too friendly. Eric couldn't explain it, but he always felt like Victor's eyes bore into him every time he turned his back.
"How many other Blackthorns do you know?" Eric retorted, following Kenny's eyes as they leaped down to find Trent, forgetting that Kyle had taken him and Stan outside.
Trent. Holy shit, how would he react?
Eric had been unsure, curious but unsure what exactly the guard had done to him. But now that he knew it was probably Victor, he was starting to get some ideas that he really didn't like. He shuddered, actually shuddered, at the thought.
His mind was a hurricane of conflicting thoughts. Should they confront Victor? Should they warn Trent? They didn't know how Trent would react, or if his knowing would even help anything at all. Shit, fuck, Victor could be here any minute.
"W-well, I've never seen a rose tattoo on Victor's hand." Kenny stammered, grasping at straws. Anything to keep thinking that the guard wasn't around. He was right though; Eric hadn't seen a rose tattoo on Victor's hand either, but that didn't mean he didn't have one.
Eric's mind continued whirling. He was absolutely sure Victor was the guard. No doubt. But he couldn't think of any possible scenario in which letting Trent know that the guard was around would be beneficial. He needed to think faster. Trent could not fight today. Not against Victor. He knew Trent would probably back out if he was told to, but he'd demand a reason or an explanation.
It took a few minutes of scrambling his mind until he finally thought of a great way to get him disqualified. Naturally, he would have to make sure Victor was actually the guard first.
"Follow me," He said to Kenny, helping him up and handing him his crutches. With as much speed as Kenny's crutch-dependent fumbling could manage, they went to wait right outside the gym's entrance. Once Victor came, they could catch him out here and distract him.
When you speak of the sun or all that bullshit. It seemed Victor had a perfect sense of timing.
"Hey, Vick," Kenny called, his voice not cheery enough to fool anyone. Oh, God, why did he have to be such a terrible actor?
Victor's piercing, almost predatory eyes fell on them. "Hi, Kenny," he said in his usual flirty drawl. Up until mere minutes ago, Eric had thought that drawl was just another one of Victor's charms. But now it grossed him out. "I heard about your ankle."
Kenny shifted on his crutches, his face twisting into a pretty smile. "Heh, yeah. I can be pretty clumsy."
As they talked, Eric discreetly looked at Victor's hands to see if he had any tattoos. He frowned when he realized Victor was wearing black gloves.
"Don't be coy, Kenny," Victor drawled, "Rick already admitted it was his fault. Such a shame too. I told him to be gentler with you."
"Well, he clearly didn't listen," Kenny replied, awkwardly.
Victor had clearly caught on to the suspicious air between Eric and Kenny. But he chose to ignore it. "And we can't have that, can we?"
The conversation continued, on and on. Throughout the whole thing, Victor continued with his vaguely threatening tone. It was very clear what he was trying to communicate: Don't worry, I'll kick Rick's ass for you.
Somehow, that didn't ease anyone's mind.
Victor's hands kept hiding behind their armor of cloth. While Eric was wondering how they were supposed to get Victor to take those gloves off, he noticed something in the reflection of Victor's eye. A movement, happening behind the gym's glass doors. Something happened inside the gym. Warily, he turned to look and…FUCK!
Kyle, that useless asshat, had come back inside the gym. And Stan was, of course, right on his tail. If they had come back, then so had Trent. Hastily, Eric made some excuse to go back inside. After all, he seriously doubted Victor would do anything to Kenny.
He made his way to Stan, Kyle, and Trent and started talking, rambling, actually. He just needed to find some excuse to make Trent leave. "Um, uh, you've been disqualified!"
"The fuck?"
"Yep, so you gotta leave!"
He put his hands on Trent's shoulders and started pushing him toward the boys' restroom. He certainly couldn't push him outside. Victor was out there. He received complaints from all three as well as questions and a lot of physical resistance. But after a while, he managed to drag, push, and pull Trent into the restroom.
Once inside, he grabbed Trent in the tightest bear hug he could. It wasn't meant as a comforting gesture, in fact, he was probably squeezing the other guy half to death. And based on the storm of swear words and insults Trent rained down on him, it was not comfortable at all.
"Let go, pig-face!" Trent roared. He was throwing surprisingly few punches. Indeed, he was throwing none at all. "The cat! The fucking cat, asshole!"
A cat? Eric let go of Trent, honestly surprised that neither Stan nor Kyle had attempted to stop him. They must have realized something was up. Especially Kyle, given the message he received earlier. Soon enough, the cat enigma was explained when Trent dug into his pocket and pulled out a tiny little tuxedo kitten. It meowed a lot, very dissatisfied with the roughhousing.
Stan took it. Probably to make sure it didn't get hurt.
Honestly, the following few minutes were a blur of minor events. Stan and Kyle both started ripping into him for dragging them in there, but the kitten kept meowing, so they left to feed it, thus leaving Trent and Eric alone in the restroom. Trent, who had calmed down, asked why he was dragged in there if he had been disqualified from the tournament.
Eric, having no better response, ended up punching him right in the nose and saying, "You're bleeding! Better clean up!" Then he booked it.
As he sprinted out of the restroom, leaving a bewildered and bleeding Trent behind, he had to wonder how he was going to keep everything from falling apart. How did he even become a part of this in the first place? He miserably thought back to just a week ago. To think that all he wanted to do was play wingman for Trent so that he wouldn't murder them. But nooo, Trent had to go around being traumatized, and now, the guy who fucked him up was here, in the flesh, and was Rick's brother. God, could this day get any worse?
Upon getting back, his eyes landed on the crowd surrounding the ring. He had no idea how much time had passed, but it seemed the tournament had already started. He got a little closer. It seemed the tournament had not started yet. Someone had yet to arrive. In the ring, leaning against the ring ropes, was the myth himself: Victor Blackthorn, looking very unpleased. Next to him, on the outer side of the ring ropes, stood Rick, talking to him about something or whatever— Eric couldn't hear them.
In the ring's other corner stood no one at all. Kenny was leaning against the outer side of the ring ropes, but the actual fighter hadn't shown up. Eric wondered momentarily, what kind of unfortunate loser realized he'd have to fight Victor and booked it. But then it struck him. The missing fighter was Trent. Obviously.
"Oh, there you are!" Kenny called out to him. He did that little thing. That little body language change that he always did when he was trying to act, trying to lie his way out of something. "Why aren't you in gym clothes?"
Gym clothes? Why should Eric wear gym clothes?
"Uh… I didn't bring any…" Eric mumbled, trying to figure out exactly what Kenny was planning. His eyes said, 'Just follow along' but literally every other part of him was giving off gibberish, panicked nonsense. Thus, Eric only got to wonder what on earth he was supposed to follow along with.
"Aw, getting cold feet?" Rick mocked from his place next to Victor, his mouth in a condescending smile. Victor shot him down with a look.
Eric completely blanked. What did Rick mean by 'cold feet'?
"No worries," Victor said with an air of condescension, flashing his usual perfect smile. "It won't be long anyway. You won't even need gym clothes."
This caused Rick to snicker mockingly.
The whole crowd was ooing and looking at him expectantly. Their eyes took him up and down, beckoning him to enter the ring. He turned back to Kenny, who gave him a thumbs-up and an unsure smile as he pointed to Victor. Then, and only then, did Eric realize what was happening. Kenny had made him the replacement for Trent. Shit.
Great. Fucking awesome! So, now Eric had to fight Victor. What a nice turn of events.
"Ah ha ha," Eric let out a nervous laugh. "Right, I'll beat you no sweat." He truly lacked conviction, but it caused the crowd to buzz, and Victor smirked at him.
"Sounds fun," He cooed.
"Cool, cool, gimme a minute." Without waiting, Eric dragged Kenny away from the crowd, far enough that they couldn't hear what he whispered. He pointed to the boys' restroom. "Trent's in there. Go make sure he stays put, okay? Go flirt or something."
Okay, maybe Eric shouldn't have said that last part. But watching Kenny's face turn red was all the confirmation he needed that Trent had been making the moves on him. Oh well, he would have to bring it up with Trent later.
But it worked, and Kenny nodded, walking to the restroom to keep Trent distracted.
Eric went back to the ring, feeling his stomach do flips as he stepped inside. To think Kenny had just signed him up to get the shit kicked out of him. This was going to suck so hard. He didn't even know the first thing about kickboxing, and now, he was going to prove that to everyone. He honestly wanted to cry a little bit. They had seriously been banking on Trent winning this tournament, and here he was, about to lose it for him.
"Ready?" Victor drawled.
Eric nodded, stepping into the ring. He probably looked like a cat drenched in water. Even still, the crowd changed their tune, and cheers and whispers filled the gym.
Right before the referee blew the whistle to start the match, Victor threw something to Rick. Eric felt a surge of adrenaline when he saw what it was: a pair of black gloves. After all, you can't fight with your own gloves on. Eric's eyes immediately flew to Victor's hands. There it was. The black rose tattoo. It covered the entire back of his hand and snaked its way underneath his sleeve. He really was the guard. No doubt about it.
Eric's eyes remained glued to the tattoo. They remained when the referee blew the whistle. They remained when the crowd started holding their breath and watching. They even remained when Victor's tattooed fist when he raised it and slammed it right into Eric's jaw.
Eric stumbled back, finally out of his trance. His jaw ached painfully, and he could taste a metallic tinge in his mouth. The realization that he was in the middle of a fight, facing Victor Blackthorn (of all people), the guard, hit him like a ton of bricks. Panic surged through him as he tried to remember anything he knew about self-defense. Except he didn't know any self-defense! He was a big guy; no one ever tried to mess with him, so he never bothered to learn.
Victor advanced with calculated steps, a sinister grin on his face. The crowd's cheers echoed in the gym, but Eric felt isolated in the ring, facing the person who had tormented Trent. Trent who had tormented Eric. Who was now fighting the guard.
In a desperate attempt to defend himself, Eric raised his arms in a feeble endeavor at a guard. Victor, however, effortlessly dodged his clumsy strikes and countered with a swift kick to Eric's midsection. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and he gasped for breath.
Eric had a conversation with Tweek a few days ago. Tweek told him Victor wasn't as good of a fighter as everyone said he was. It seemed stupid. Tweek had never fought Victor, so how was he supposed to know? But nevertheless, Eric took his word for it.
A terrible mistake.
He managed to land a single hit on Victor's face, but it was for naught. In fact, it appeared to be a strategic move on Victor's part as it allowed him to get way closer and slam his fist right into Eric's temple.
He saw stars. He actually saw stars. He had always thought seeing stars was an idiom. Not the actual thing that happens, but he was seeing them all the way down as he fell on the floor.
Voices echoed, and colors danced. His head ached and he definitely had blood in his mouth. Now, his back hurt too. Falling on it like that was certainly not the most comfortable thing.
"Ugh…" He groaned as he tried to open his eyes again. How much time had passed?
"Did I punch him too hard?" Victor asked, his voice filled with faux concern.
"I dunno. Hey fatty, wake up!" Rick's voice echoed overhead. Eric opened his eyes to see Rick looking down at him. He wasn't laughing at him, nor did he appear angry. It made Eric wonder how long he had been out cold. He must've been out for a long while if Rick had already stopped laughing at his suffering. Rick turned back to Victor— his movements had a strange blur to them like he was moving in slow motion but still too fast for Eric's eye to catch.
Words echoed and bounced off the walls; myriads of voices surrounded him, moving closer and stepping back, moving closer and stepping back. Only once his vision unblurred a bit did he notice that Rick was making people to keep their distance. People then moved closer again and were once again shooed away by Rick.
The sound of a giant explosion caught his ears; Rick was snapping his fingers in front of Eric's face. "Hey, respond to me." He said. "How old are you, Cartman?"
Eric groaned; he was dizzy just lying down. "18"
"What weekday is it?" Rick asked. Eric took a good, long look at Rick's face. He looked slightly amused, but mostly he just seemed to be following routine.
"Uh, Tuesday?" Eric guessed. Why was Rick asking him such stupid, surprisingly difficult questions?
"It's Friday." Rick turned back to Victor with a smug smile. "Yeah, you definitely hit him too hard." Good for him. Honestly, good for Rick that he finally had one thing he could hold over Victor's head. He turned back to Eric. "What month is it?"
"F-February?" Eric stated, confidently. He tried to sit up, but the world spun, and he quickly lay back down.
He looked at Victor for a split second, seeing his nose bleeding. Eric wanted to laugh. Even if Victor had annihilated him in this fight, he still managed to make him bleed.
"Is it night or day?" Rick continued, his irritating smirk fading slightly into a look of near-concern. "It's September, by the way."
"It's fuckin' 2 AM, dude." Eric said, smiling.
The gym's atmosphere shifted as Eric lay on the floor, disoriented and battered. The realization of being in over his head hit him hard. Rick's questions, though seemingly nonsensical, were probably an attempt to gauge the extent of Eric's disorientation. Victor's faux concern seemed gradually less and less faux.
Rick gave Victor a look that Eric, even in his battered state, immediately recognized that look. It was something Kenny gave him all the time. It was the you-fucked-up look.
Eric's dazed eyes glazed their way over the crowd. He recognized a few faces as Tweek and Craig. But his own friends were not present.
Tweek decided to speak, "Not to state the obvious, but he seems concussed."
Victor was biting his nail when he replied, "You don't say."
The crowd murmured with anticipation, some exchanging worried glances. It seemed like the mood shifted from the excitement of a typical fight to a more uneasy concern for Eric's well-being. The realization that Victor might have seriously injured Eric lingered in the air.
Tweek entered the ring and helped carry Eric out with Rick. Eric found it a little insulting that they needed to be two to carry him. He was not that heavy, but at this point, he was too dizzy and aching to care.
They placed him on a bench by the wall and left. Both of them. Eric was surprisingly happy that they just left him alone. It would've really sucked if Rick stayed and kept making fun of him. But of course, he couldn't do that. Because Victor was keeping him on the usual leash, which meant that Rick had to stay in line unless he wanted to embarrass Victor.
As Eric lay on the bench, Kyle and Stan came back from wherever they were, kitten in hand. Naturally, they grilled him on what happened, and how Eric ended up bloody and bruised. And Eric told them everything: The revelation that Victor was the guard, the hasty decision to replace Trent in the ring, and the brutal reality of facing Victor in a kickboxing match without any prior experience – it all seemed like a nightmare.
His head throbbed, and the taste of blood lingered in his mouth, making him feel increasingly nauseous. He could still feel the eyes of the crowd on him, hear their whispers and murmurs echoing in the gym. He wondered how Trent and Kenny were doing, if they were aware of the chaos that had unfolded in mere minutes.
Instinctively, Eric's eyes went to the door to the boys' restroom. The sight made his blood run cold, his heart run rampant, and his legs feel weak: Victor, having received a punch to the nose from Eric, was making his way inside to clean the blood.
Victor was entering the boys' restroom.