Leviathan (Fist of Light Series) (7 page)

I couldn't resist a final statement before focusing my efforts on bringing my power to bear. “They aren't very talkative fellows.”

Purple traceries of Air coalesced around my form, allowing me some time for thought as my three advancing enemies were brought to a veritable standstill. I had no choice but to participate. That was for sure. Either I bulled through those assembled before me, or I would be smashed to bits by the huge clubs my assailants toted. This wasn’t the time to start thinking of enemies as beings that could be rationalized with or that they possessed even a shred of humanity. Although there might have been some redeeming qualities to the blue giants moving to beat me to a bloody pulp, it was essential not to foster these thoughts, not when I had to do my best to hurt them if I wanted to make it out alive. That settled I confronted my foes, mentally prepared for battle.

“You might think about bleeding them before making your move. They’ll become easier prey the more wounds you inflict, but you must move quickly. Getting caught by a foe of superior strength and fortitude will lead to your demise,” Jeeves provided helpfully.

“Right,” I concurred, hefting the knuckle dusters and moving in for a flank.

Even with a further slackened amount of power directed to augmenting my speed, these guys weren't too light on their feet. The ogres spun around, but it was a ponderous process that took far too much time amid the heated exchange of battle. A matter of seconds decided the outcome of a fight and I was determined to gain the advantage right off the bat. It was a relatively simple thing to rush in from behind and puncture two of the brutes’ calves with my weapons. Rivulets of blood began to run down the superficial wounds, triggering pain receptors in the brain and notifying the ogres of damage to their bodies. In reaction, they stomped their injured appendages at the ground while swatting massive arms in my direction, sending a shower of sand outward. These guys weren't lightweights and the simple reaction threw me from my feet and sent me tumbling forward, where I sprawled, blind, in the midst of the angry ogres.

Blinking away sand, my blurry eyes scanned for incoming attacks as I stood in an unsteady fighting stance. Funny how much you rely on sight to keep your balance. My instincts screamed a warning, informing me of a fast-moving object on a collision course with my head. Still half blind, I was only partially able to maneuver away from the club. Pain exploded in my chest, blunted only slightly by a hastily fashioned padding of Air. The force of the blow was powerful enough to lift me off my feet and toss me through the air into the sigil painted walls of the arena. Agony flashed through me as I fell back to the sands, head down and forearms dug into the earth.

“Screw this.” I threw my dusters to the ground and tried out a different idea.

I commanded Water to coalesce. Two icy stilettos were given life by images of my own weapon, which had been left back at the mansion with my other gear. Grinning, I spun the daggers experimentally and found them to be adequate. With a forward dash, I launched from the ground and soared up onto the back of an unsuspecting foe. Quickly adjusting my balance, I thrust downward and my two blades dug deeply into the spaces between each shoulder blade, a particularly vulnerable part of the body. A deep basso roar was quickly followed by reaching hands that sought to unseat me from my precarious position. After launching myself into the air and manifesting a throwing dagger, I threw the projectile at another ogre, half suspecting I was wide of my mark.

What wasn't expected was the invisible force field above that reasserted the law of gravity more quickly than was appreciated. Although there wasn't much momentum to work with, I rolled gracelessly, partially distributing the force of my impact. Coupled with the presence of sand, this proved enough to save me from breaking anything, which would have sealed my fate for sure. As my attention diverted to the raucous laughter of the crowd, I found that my clunky maneuver amused the spectators.

Jeeves flashed in beside me as I regained my feet. “Do not allow the roar of the crowd to distract you. Focus upon your goal to the exclusion of all else. Force the background noise to fade from perception.”

Grunting in response, I allowed a little of the fury coursing through my veins to filter into my movements. The ogres were becoming wise to my quick strikes, which meant I had to come up with a new plan. I gathered additional power from my reserves and swiped my hand from left to right, manifesting a slew of daggers before me. Calling Air, I meshed it into my design, which instigated a buildup of power behind my floating weapons. The ogres had conveniently begun to advance once more, although they were more wary in their approach this time, unsure of what I was planning. Ruthlessly, I pounded out a last infusion of Air and struck outwards with an open palm, letting my creations loose. There wasn't anything pretty about what followed. Pure and simple, it was bloody and necessary. The wave of daggers stuck fast like deadly pincushions, the dark sapphire tinge of Water contrasting slightly with the light blue of ogre skin.

Bellows of pain and anger beat upon the air, their deep baritones deafening. The ogres’ momentum carried them forward, but the wounds had taken their toll. Ever so slowly, reminiscent of the toppling of trees, my enemies crashed to the sands in a detonation of dust, a mushrooming cloud that hid all from view. The bodies continued sliding forward, until vague impressions became visible, mere feet before me.

Jeeves' disembodied voice spoke from behind me. “An exemplary combination, enacted reactively. Now would be the time to ascertain that your prey has been incapacitated.”

“I've got it,” I replied, exasperation tingeing my words.

“Carefully.”

Uncertainly, I made progress through the dense cloud of swirling debris. “Hard to do anything carefully, when you can't
see
anything,” I grumbled under my breath.

The screams of bloodthirsty patrons were nearing a crescendo of fervor, but again the distracting sounds were walled off. I neared the closest ogre. Its arms were splayed outwards and the massive face was buried deep in the sand. Falling in such a manner would cause the daggers to penetrate more fully and wreak even more damage than in their initial strike. Not surprisingly, when I kicked at the massive expanse of flesh before me, it didn’t even twitch. Grunting, my straining eyes absorbed the dark brown of dried blood seeping out from under the prone form and I moved onto the next motionless form, not expecting trouble. Going about the dirty task with grim determination, I followed my enhanced senses, as well as what little of my surroundings could be seen in the flurry of motes.

No movement was evident in the enormous being, so I took another couple of steps forward and kicked at a gigantic blue hand. I shrugged after a short lull where nothing happened and turned toward the last ogre before a slight frown overcame my features and a thoughtful crease graced my brow.

“Do you feel—”

A thunderclap echoed through my ears and it took me a few precious seconds to realize that the sound was a byproduct of an enormous impact. That impact was caused by the ogre that had responded to my investigations. Like a super-sized fly swatter, I was squashed. The pain was excruciating, but the unrelenting pressure demonstrated by the dying ogre abruptly let off. Unfortunately, my oxygen supply was severely lacking and after a few unsuccessful heaves in an attempt to extricate myself from the dead weight, I was gasping for breath. Hurriedly, I directed a blast of Air at the restraining appendage, which shot upward obligingly. I rolled to the side and my oxygen-deprived lungs were given their urgent desire. As gravity reasserted itself and the ogre’s dead limb smashed back into the ground, I stood, my stance unstable.

My
everything
hurt, not that I was ready to admit that out loud. Instead of falling back to the inviting sands below, I coerced my body to meet my demands of upright posture as clarity returned to the arena. Cheering reverberated around the stadium, and despite the disgust that welled up in me at the sound of it, I couldn't help but feel pleased with surviving the first challenge. Brushing so close to death in the first round didn't give me the slightest feeling of pleasure, however. If the goal was to make it through all three rounds alive, my chances were becoming increasingly slim.

The voice of the Dominus cut through the chatter and instantly the cheering dwindled before stopping altogether. “An exceptionally entertaining display, was it not?”

The crowd roared in approbation.

My eyes bored into the bulging musculature of the shadowy figure on his opulent dais. “Tonight, I offer you the chance to become this boy's patron, if he survives the night’s tribulations. His value will be determined by your contributions.”

My stomach dropped; my jailer hadn’t been bluffing. He meant to pawn me off like some trophy born of blood and death if I managed to survive everything thrown at me. The question was
what
exactly did it mean that someone would become my patron? And how would my plans need to be changed? I definitely couldn’t wait till nightfall to make my move and risk being sold to the highest bidder because I missed my golden opportunity.

I
’d been given only a moment’s rest as the attendees recessed and my jailer patched up numerous gashes. Obviously, he wasn't able to do anything for the rapidly appearing bruises, but those would fade, if I lived long enough. I sucked down the water given to me greedily, draining every last drop in an attempt to expel the dry taste of sand from my inflamed throat.

“You've made it through only a single trial,
boy
,” my guard hissed, grinning nastily. “Don't be getting your hopes up. You are lucky to have the support of the crowd, otherwise I'd have already ridded the Dominus of you.” He had become increasingly pissy. He had probably forgotten to take his anti-psychotics this morning.

“I'll provide you with a little background, since you don't know me.” The anger inside me bubbled over and his gruesome smile was returned in kind. “I
won't
be bogged down by any obstacle you put me up against. I won't die, not here, in this filthy underworld.”

Rather than becoming incensed as expected, my jailer became unreadable, but then cracked a smile. “You will fall here, whether you choose to believe it or not. When your tortured soul finally enters the Realm of Hades, you will be subjected to acts of such horror that what's remaining of your personality fractures and breaks under the strain.”

“If it makes you feel better, that was almost scary.” I offered a lopsided grin. “Might want to work on the delivery, but it shows some promise.”

Jeeves interjected from across the room, far less incorporeal looking than previously, “Hades can be a dreadful place, and it is quite possible that you will be taken there if you perish upon the sands of this arena.”

My jailer displayed his yellow teeth in a wide smile, assured that his prediction would come to pass. My anger pounded, a raging surf against an obdurate cliff face, but it was useless against the restraining torc damming up my power. I extended my senses tentatively out to the piece, looking for any cracks within its defenses that could be eroded and worn away. When my metaphysical eyes got a visual, it became clear that the torc was a sinuous whole, an interlacing design that was not unlike complex weaving. The problem I quickly encountered was the difficulty in finding where the weaving began or ended, or if it ever did. As my senses honed in on the design and filled in the missing pieces, I unhappily discovered the device had more layers than could be counted.

“
You getting this, Jeeves?”
I sent the vision his way.

“
Quite. Although the weave is relatively simple in design, finding the beginning strand is no small feat and unraveling it is another thing altogether.”

“
Like finding a needle in a haystack.”
I grimaced, brooding.

My captor saw my introspection as an admission of defeat. “Ah, good. It seems you've finally accepted your fate as unavoidable.” He cocked his head to one side. “And just in time, too.” That greasy grin grew wider.

“You're a despicable human being, you know that?” I spat the caustic words.

“That's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me,” he replied with a smile as he dragged me to my feet for a second time, unaffected.

After shaking off his restraining arms, I tossed the water bottle at him and walked onto the sands without any encouragement. All the while, a devious grin was plastered onto my jailer's features, and immediately I determined to be wary in our future encounters. In a short while, I'd be done with the man, although hopefully there would be a chance to rid the world of the bottom feeder. The doors closed behind me with a boom and the crowd took up a cheer at my entrance.

Drawing my eyebrows together and looking inwards, I completely disregarded the opening statement of the Dominus.
“Jeeves, you need to figure out that weave, pronto. I can't work with that dampening, and out here the cage is even more powerful, even if it gives us a little breathing room.”