Leviathan (Fist of Light Series) (9 page)

By the time the walls had stopped shaking from the stone-on-stone screaming of the elemental, I had managed to regain a standing position. From there, I could see that Rocky had been impaled cleanly through where his stone heart would be, if here were anything resembling human. The essence behind Rocky crumbled, disseminated into its component parts. The earthen construct split and cracked, tearing itself apart under the sudden strain of holding itself together. Before a minute was through, all that remained of my opponent was a titan-sized pile of dirt.

“
Damn
,” I croaked through a parched throat.

For a moment, the crowd seemed unsure whether it should revert back to the side of the underdog or boo me offstage. I’d given quite an entertaining show, however, because the masses rallied behind my banner. Cheers echoed endlessly throughout the underworld coliseum as I exited stage left on my own accord, pleased with surviving another round. My mind couldn't hope to wonder what challenges lay before me in the final round.

“
H
ey, Jeeves. Do we have liftoff
, or do you expect me to fight blindfolded with my hands tied behind my back while writhing on the ground in agony?”

Jeeves flashed in on my right and walked with me to the entrance to the adjoining room.
“
We need to address your flair for the dramatic. Fortunately, I may as well be a divine being sent down from the glimmering heavens to assist you. Despite my undeniable expertise, it was no easy task to locate the first strand in a complex array equivalent of thousands of convoluted, crossing wires.
”
If he were radiating any more smugness, it would congeal and drown me where I stood.

The requisite ego-stroking was provided, but only at a bare minimum. “
Great work, I'm happy to have you on Team Caleb. Now, can we get to the part where you tell me we're in the clear?
”

“We're in the clear,” Jeeves grumbled, dissatisfied with my inadequate praise. “The dampening effects of the torc have been neutralized.”

“
Can Jas find us now?”

Jeeves looked unsure. “In all likelihood, yes. However, there is still the influence of the sigils in the arena to be taken into account, which might still provide some scrambling to any location or communications.”

We stepped off the sands and into the enclosure. “Great,” I said, and stared hard at the symbol of the Aevum burned onto my hand, a memento of Kathryne's first red-hot contact.

“Feeling overworked, child?” an overly friendly voice chimed in as my jailer stepped out of the shadows, offering a bottle of water.

I leaned back against a wall and slid down until my head rested almost between my knees. Then, I informed the less-than-human man exactly what he could do with his bottled refreshment. For a time, he left me to my own devices, all too willing to allow a period for a systems check.

My adrenaline, coursing so potently in my veins during the match, was beginning to wear off, the torrent of epinephrine dammed to a mere trickle. Pain coursed through my body, blood dripping from the wounds I sustained from the little buggers that came before Rocky. After dwelling for a time on the gleaming red hemoglobin seeping out of my body and splashing to the sands below, a more all-inclusive examination was required. I had a concussion, coupled with another strapping bruise provided by the wicked haymaker from a striking tentacle. Wincing, I determined that I suffered a few cracked ribs and superficial scrapes from the brutish impact and succeeding falls. All in all, there was much to be grateful for that I had even survived this long. However, a dissenting portion of my brain was arguing the rationale for waiting such an interim before making a move. Pursing my lips, I ruminated upon the credence of the argument. Maybe, underneath it all, I was just a masochist.

My jailer waited for my condition to sink in before plying me for a second time. “Here, how about this: I'll stitch those wounds closed if you drink this.” He thrust the water forward for inspection.

Licking my lips, I studied the sloshing, clear liquid and saw nothing amiss. Of course, that didn't mean anything. My natural suspicion put me on guard. “Why are you coddling me all of a sudden?”

“I am merely seeing you to a peaceful death. One should not go thirsty or in such a ravaged state to the grave.” He indicated shredded skin and clothes. “There is little that can be done for clothing, but I can help you with the other two.”

“If an excess of blood is lost, you'll be at a sore disadvantage in the coming fight,” Jeeves pointed out reasonably from beside me.

I acquiesced relatively peacefully and he went to work while I downed a portion of the bottle. Although his fingers were light and quick, a revolting feeling overcame me with such close proximity to my captor.

My jailer broke the silence after a few grueling minutes. “You stand no chance in the final confrontation.”

“You keep going on about this whole dying thing.” I flourished a wry grin. “I've survived everything thrown at me. What's to say I can’t do it one more time?”

“Your final opponent.” My guard smiled widely, revealing a gap-tooth grin. “They call him Hercules,” he confided in a near-reverent whisper.

“Hercules,” I repeated dumbly. “So he's got a cool name. What about it?”

“What about it?” he parroted my phrasing. “Preternatural strength, agility, the blood of his forefathers. None is more entitled to the name. Done.” He surveyed his work, apparently satisfied.

As he returned his implements to their proper place, I secreted away the remaining water. It would be invaluable on the sands, as it had become increasingly difficult to congeal any amount of ice into weapons. That would likely be due to removal of the dead from the scenes, therein taking my projectiles and swords with them. As the air had become drier, water molecules would need to be moved further distances, thereby requiring more power.

“Why are you telling me this?”

He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “It is only
just
to paint a clear picture for a man about to die.”

“
Justice,”
I spat out in hysterics. “You wouldn't know justice if it ran over your desiccated conscience.”

The man made as if to hit me and I secretly prepared power, corralling it into doing my bidding. The roar of applause and senseless cheering stopped him, however, and he backed away slowly.

“
Not yet,”
Jeeves insisted from within my mind.

It was no easy thing to release the grip on my power; I oh-so-wanted to drown this man in his own fluids and to rid the world of his tainted presence. Slowly, ever so slowly, the anger receded and with it the power that had been marshaled. A lingering torpor took its place, but I shook it off stubbornly and stood. Making my way to the door, not even a last glance was deemed appropriate for my horrible host. I'm sure I only stumbled a few times before making it out onto the arena sands. Grinning crazily as the doors closed behind me, I stuck a finger roughly down my throat, puking up the water so recently imbibed.

Hacking, coughing, and grimacing, I shook my head in triumph.
“What a schmuck.”

“Humans are such pitifully predictive beings. No imagination,” Jeeves practically pouted.

“
How much of the depressant do you think got absorbed into my blood?”

A few seconds were taken to consider before he responded. “Enough to make your eyelids sag and slow your movements marginally.”

“
I can deal with that.”

The raucous cheering increased tenfold at the glorious entrance of Hercules onto the sands. Despite the overjoyed acclaim, the man was only in his mid-twenties. The champion was decked out in red and gold; he even sported a flowing cape. I kid you not, a blood-red
cape
. Seriously, hadn't he seen that movie where they discussed how heroes die by some far-fetched accident due to a flapping ensemble? Obviously not, but I was unsure whether the rule extended to villains. The man before me was nothing if not confident. His every move projected the stuff and I doubted all of it was hot air.

Hercules, both his predecessor and namesake, weren't known to be pushovers. If he could bench-press an elephant, I would need to get him on his toes, do the unexpected. He would be a close quarters fighter, but rusty in the long disuse of the skills. When one could brain a man in a single blow, people tend to beat a hasty retreat, when they live long enough. Fighting in such close quarters would be a risky maneuver, however, and each blow he struck would have to be redirected perfectly. If they weren't then I'd be tossed like a sack of meal, my defense broken into pieces effortlessly. Shaking the sluggishness away, I made eye contact with Hercules, employing a newly discovered talent. Like sapphire lighthouses, incandescent color flooded my eyes, illuminated from within.

“Empowered scum. Prepare to die,” Hercules spat in a very anti-Herculean manner.

My eyes got his attention and put him on his toes, as planned. “People keep telling me I'm going to bite it.” I forced myself to shrug easily, unconcernedly. “Just not feeling it today. Maybe next time.”

An animal growl was the only indication that the response had been received. As the crowd became hushed and we circled each other warily, I shut off the light show. If this guy wasn't kept on his guard, he would clobber me like the Incredible Hulk. There was no doubt about that. Before bringing up my fists in a ready position, I patted reassuringly at the bottle tucked into a back pocket, crossing mental fingers that it would remain in its position. There wasn't a peep from the crowd as Hercules and I took each other’s measure. A wrong move in the opening phase of this fight would mean death. The stark reality of that thought sobered me up almost completely, and a previously unnoticed haze over my vision lifted.

One possessed of the ability to break bones with the lightest touch would have no reason to hone his abilities in hand-to-hand combat. With this in mind, the simplistic approach of a wild, undisciplined swing was all but assured and Hercules didn't disappoint. Calling Air to enhance my speed, I dipped under and towards the strike, coming up on the other side of it. Taking advantage of his momentary confusion, I pivoted and threw a well-timed hook to the body. Except my nemesis blurred out of the way before any damage could be done, before the attack even came close. He was fast, very fast. Processing this new information on overdrive, it was clear that I was being tested.

This time he came at me with well-executed strikes, body shots that would likely turn my insides to mush if they connected. He didn't display the same extraordinary speed as before, which was a main contributing factor to my continued breathing. I redirected the punches easily, instinctively, but didn't take advantage of the openings he gave me. In turn, I also made some purposeful mistakes, but neither of us capitalized on them. I threw some halfhearted strikes but didn't gain much from them, as he was never where my punches ended up, always a hairs breadth away. Although in other cases I might have taken advantage of superior speed and thrown a flurry of blows, retreat, rinse, and repeat, it was too dangerous a move. He would have found a weakness in the approach, and he was far too fast for me to even consider it.

The fight amped up from there. What became immediately noticeable was the way Hercules played the crowd, masterfully manipulating them into a frenzy, and they eagerly flocked to his shining banner. Then there was no time for anything resembling deep thought. All that was left was to act and react. Sweat streaked freely down my face and no time was spared to wipe it away. Left, right, left hook. Duck, swerve, pivot, redirect punch. Time seemed to blur together and my focus became solely on the little tells in my opponent’s movements, watching for the commencement of a strike, hoping for an opening. I found myself having to gradually increase the amount of power directed to augmenting my speed, as Hercules settled into the fight, brought more and more of his true potential to the fore. Frankly, I didn't know if I'd be a match for him handicapped, secret weapon or not. A simple palm strike blurred toward my chest at light speed. The only thing that saved me from catastrophe was the minute distance needed to redirect a punch. All that needed to happen was a quick thrusting forward of one shoulder and the subsequent hand, allowing the inside of the wrist to provide the small nudge. Play time was over, obviously, and I couldn't help but widen my eyes in realization of just how fast Hercules was. The palm strike impacted my left shoulder, spinning me around like a top and spilling me onto the ground. Blinding pain seared through me. I let the deluge of agony wash over me, to reside impotently with the accumulated hurts of the night. When I'd finally regained control over my body, it was possible to lift my face from the grainy sand, spit profusely and level myself into a standing position. Hercules was unconcerned with any counterattack, bowing deeply to the audience.

“
Might I advise against allowing such a hit to land again?”
Jeeves chimed in.