Ascendants of Ancients Sovereign (Worlds of the Crystal Moon, Book 1) (42 page)

Before Sam could respond, the bell of the arena sounded. It was his turn to fight. On the way out of the room, he patted BJ on the back. “I’ll explain everything later. Watch my fight, will you? I need as much feedback as I can get.”

Sam was the first to enter the arena. He still did not know who his opponent was. As he entered, the crowd cheered. The atmosphere reminded him of his fight in Vegas. Sure, this arena and the style of fighting were far different than anything he had known, and the mat was made of sand, but the cheering of the crowd was the same. He raised his hands and allowed himself to enjoy the moment.

After taking his position, Sam grabbed his wooden stave. He moved it around and was surprised at how his actions were much quicker than they were while training with BJ.
Right on,
he thought.
With Mosley’s gifts, I can open up a can of godly whoop-ass
.
BJ’s going to flip when he sees this fight.

Sam’s opponent entered the arena. As if a light switch was toggled, Sam’s demeanor changed. He was all business as he sized up the man who moved across the arena floor. His adversary was a few inches shorter. He was also thinner and did not look to be much of a threat—until he started to move his stave around with great precision. Sam had never seen anything like it. The man’s movements were fast, so fast that he muttered under his breath, “This is going to hurt. So much for godly whoop-ass.”

As Sam crossed the arena to engage his opponent, he reminded himself that there were no rules. On this world, a fight was a fight, and no matter what happened, there was no stopping it. It did not matter if he took a shot to the groin, head-butt to the face, had sand thrown in his eyes, or any other cheap shot—he still had to fight his way through it all. This form of battle was the truest form of fighting he could experience, and he was about to get his first taste of real brutality.

The wooden staves collided, echoing across the arena as the people cheered. A quick crushing elbow smashed into the side of Sam’s head, followed by another stinging strike by his opponent’s stave against the upper part of his back.

Sam was stunned as the man spun effortlessly from one strike to the next. The force of the blow to his back made his nerves scream, and it was strong enough to knock him into a stumbling fall. But Sam managed to roll to his feet and ready himself for the next attack. The pain sent a thunderous message—pay attention!

His adversary attacked with the tip of his stave. The thrust, part of a combination of moves, was meant for Sam’s belly, but Sam blocked them all. However, a spinning leg followed the onslaught, and it knocked Sam to the ground where he landed with a thud.

As he fell, Sam saw the man continue the sweep to a position where he could deliver another powerful, potentially life-ending strike. Sam managed to block this downward thrust that was meant for his head before it made contact with his face. The strike was so forceful, it knocked Sam’s stave into his forehead. Sam instantly realized the fight would have been over, as well as his life, if he had not been successful at stopping the advance.

Sam brought up his left leg, twisting for the right angle as he did, and buried his foot into the backside of the man’s knee. The collision brought his foe to his knees, but his enemy was still able to swing his stave. Sam was barely able to roll away fast enough to avoid the wicked slice. He felt the rush of air as the weapon narrowly missed his face.

Sam stood and backed off to regain his composure. He moved far enough so he would have the moments to think. He wanted to replay both strikes that were meant for his head in his photographic memory. It was clear that his opponent was trying to do permanent damage. His rival was not trying to make him submit—he was trying to end him.

After reviewing each strike in his mind again, Sam now felt like a dog that had been backed into a corner. He was out of his element, and his fear needed to be channeled. He had no choice but to turn his fear into an angry storm, or his journey would be ended before it began. He needed to let out the demon that was caged at the back of his mind. He closed his eyes and opened its door. Now—he would be the deliverer of pain. He no longer had an opponent. He and his inner demon had an enemy.

Sam circled and motioned for his foe to stand. As he did, his anger magnified with each breath, and his enemy took note of the change in Sam’s eyes.

Some moments passed as the combatants sized each other up. Suddenly, the man threw himself into a roll as Sam’s raging mind took control. Sam watched his enemy come out of the roll to attempt another strike, but Sam was ready and blocked it with ease.

Sam’s mind continued to slow the pace, blocking three other strikes that were meant for his head, stomach, and groin. He countered with a punch of his own that pounded against his enemy’s temple. The hilt of his stave amplified the impact and caused his knuckles to sink deeper than normal.

Stunned, his rival tried to reach out to restrict Sam’s offense, but Sam spun to escape the man’s grasp to ensure he remained off balance. As he exited his spin, Sam brought down his stave against his enemy’s reaching forearm—his new god-given strength behind it. The weapon pulverized his foe’s left arm and snapped it like a twig. The loud crack filled the air and sent the crowd into a frenzy.

Sam watched his enemy’s stave fall to the ground, but despite the pain in his arm, the man tried to retrieve his weapon.

Sam’s inner demon would no longer allow him to feel compassion. His rage had grown far too great for that, and he was now completely out of control. The sound of the man’s arm breaking, along with the crowd’s cheers, fueled the fire inside his hardened heart. His demon wanted vengeance for the attempt on his life.

Sam stepped forward and kicked his foe in the head to stop him from retrieving his stave. He waited for the man to regain his composure and allowed his good arm to reach out to grab his weapon. As he did, Sam’s demon swung again and broke the man’s right arm. Another loud snapping sound could be heard, but now it was not only his opponent’s arm that broke—the strike was so severe the wood of Sam’s weapon splintered.

Realizing his stave was useless, Sam adjusted. He discarded his weapon, snatched his adversary’s limp arms and twisted. He and his inner demon enjoyed the man’s cries as the bones ground against each other. They yanked unmercifully and then let go.

The arms of Sam’s enemy were useless as he fell forward. Unable to catch himself, the man’s face broke his fall as he slammed into the floor of the arena with his scream blowing the sand away from his mouth.

Sam and his demon were fighting like a rabid dog, unable to think of anything but victory. With no opposition, Sam’s next strike was wide open. His enemy was unable to lift from the ground to defend himself in any manner. Sam’s insanity took no note of this helplessness and without hesitation, he jumped into the air and landed with a crushing knee to the base of the man’s neck. Another loud crunching sound covered the man’s cry of surrender. The screaming fans were fueled by the noise, and the force of the strike left his opponent unconscious.

Sam reached for the broken right arm and twisted it into a triangulated position behind his enemy’s back. The pain woke the man from his unconscious state, but he would not be given the chance to call out his surrender.

Sam’s demon used the adrenaline coursing through Sam’s body to his advantage. The demon forced Sam to ignore his enemy’s defenseless position as they raised their right leg high into the air to bring all of Sam’s 250-pound frame down as hard as they could. The blow landed just above the top of the enemy’s shoulder blade between the bone and the man’s spine. The force behind the knee was severe enough to break not only the scapula, but also the ribs beneath it. The ribs tore away from the spine as, once again, bone-crushing sounds filled the arena.

The spectators did not cheer. They were quiet, understanding the severity of what was happening to the fallen. They knew this fight was not meant to be to the death, but Sam was too far gone and still in survival mode. He was not able to consider the man’s future, nor was he able to feel compassion. He was sure the man would still kill him if given the opportunity. His inner-demon forced him to keep going. Sam became an enraged torturer, not a fighter.

He rolled off the body and toward his foe’s stave. With his mind clouded and unable to realize his enemy was deceased, he delivered another series of thunderous blows, striking over and over again to the back, arms, and head, tearing away at them like a wild beast.

Sam lost his own gentle soul, which for the moment had no power to claim him and had turned away in rebuke. It was not until after a voice from the crowd cried out to stop, that he ceased his assault.

It was Shalee—the only voice strong enough to bring Sam back far enough from his insanity that he could once again cage his inner-demon. Hearing her plea, Sam became aware of the man’s condition. His feelings returned, and what was left of his gentle spirit was once again able to embrace him. The compassion of the doctor inside him brought forth remorse as he backed away from the body and grabbed his head with his free hand. Rage had turned to disbelief, then horror and finally, it transformed into a tragic, grief-filled sorrow.

Sam moved in and knelt on one knee. He dropped his stave to the ground and then reached in to feel for a pulse. Nothing. Not a single beat could be found. A wave of emotion swept through him as he quickly rolled the man over and placed his hands on his sternum. Thirty chest compressions later, he adjusted the man’s head and tried to deliver two breaths, but the air refused to expand his chest. The blow to the back of the man’s neck had been so traumatic that the bones had been pushed forward to the front of his throat, and they were obstructing his airway. Nothing could be done to save him.

Realizing the damage he had inflicted, Sam fell back into a seated position. The murderer brought up his knees, buried his head into his forearms and wept.

The crowd remained silent—not a whisper or comment, only shocked looks stared down at the arena floor as they watched Sam wail.

This was the first life Sam had taken. He had not only taken this life, but lost part of his soul while doing it. He knew he was a murderer, the antithesis of the healing physician his father had wanted him to be. Mr. Hyde had temporarily controlled the good doctor, and as a result, Sam was left with a heavy heart, making it nearly impossible to move. His father would not have approved.

BJ calmed the nobles, suggesting that it would be a good series of moments to leave the arena. Once everyone had cleared the box, the trainer rushed to the fighting surface. BJ had been in many fights over his seasons, and he knew full well the range of emotions his pupil was feeling. He, too, had lost control in the arena and paralyzed a young boy of only 18 seasons—a deed that still haunted him to this very Peak.

BJ arrived to find Shalee sitting with Sam in her arms. She was doing her best to comfort him. BJ reached down and lifted Shalee off the sand and motioned for her to step away.

“Young lady, I admire your effort, but Sam’s pain is something you cannot fix. Until you have felt the destruction inside the arenas, you can’t understand. Go back to the inn and wait. I’ll bring him to you once we’ve spoken. He has broken no laws, and he’ll face no consequences.”

BJ cupped Shalee’s chin, forcing her eyes to find his. “The result of this fight is favorable and word will spread. This is the truth of the arenas. When next Sam fights, his opponent will know of this Peak’s outcome. A victory this brutal could instill fear in the heart of a weaker man. This is a glorious Peak.”

Shalee struggled to understand BJ’s candor. The barbarism of this world made her sick to her stomach. She whispered, “My Lord in Heaven, BJ, how can killing a man be okay? It’s not right. I should stay with him. He needs me. Killing is a crime where we’re from. You don’t understand us. You can’t understand us. It’s not possible.”

BJ walked Shalee to the arena gate, removed a torch from the wall and handed it to her. “Do as I say, and go. Men are the same ... no matter where they’re from. You must trust that a man with my seasons understands the struggles of battle. This isn’t up for debate. I said go.”

Frustrated, Shalee did as BJ commanded. She motioned to Helga that she was ready to leave, and she was grateful to have a friend to talk with. However, she turned to BJ and gave a command of her own. “You tell Sam that I’m here for him when you’re done. He’ll need me. Don’t you ever doubt that.” Having said what she needed to, Shalee turned to leave.

BJ shook his head, grabbed a torch of his own and walked over to stand above Sam. The trainer watched as the arena morticians carried the corpse away on a stretcher with three slave boys holding torches to guide their way. The sun was dropping below the horizon, and the pitch black of night was approaching fast.

BJ turned his attention to the weeping fighter and lowered his torch to the sand. As the light flickered off Sam’s face, BJ’s voice turned fatherly. “Get up, son. Be the man you need to be. I’m not about to let a student of mine feel sorry for himself. Stand up, dust yourself off, and act like a warrior.”

Sam lifted his head and let out a penetrating cry of remorse. “Aahhhhhhhhhh!” His cry served to finish quieting the demon that was still pounding against the door of its cage in the depths of his mind.

BJ was patient and watched as his student stood, brushed himself off, and began to walk toward the gates of the arena. BJ snatched up his torch and followed. Again, he used a fatherly voice while they walked. “I know how you’re feeling, Sam. I have also become enraged in battle. The arenas of this world carry with them much emotion and just as much death. You aren’t the first to kill. You’ll come to terms with this, I promise. In a short while, your name will be known throughout the kingdom. You’re going to be great. The gods have seen to that.”

As they continued to converse, BJ kept his arm around his fighter all the way to the inn. When they arrived, they stopped outside. The trainer spoke sternly, but softly. “Sam, I want you to look me in the eyes. Let me know you’ve heard everything I’ve said.”