Mortal Games

AN: The beginning of the end...^__^ Last installment of the, for lack of a better name, Keena and Jabez series....That is, last unless this idea that's been brewing in the back of my mind comes to fruition.

Read on....

Below the grounds of the city proper, within the veritable labyrinth of tunnels frequented by the some of the less respectable of the city's inhabitants, a crowd had gathered. The group stood outside a heavy door familiar to yet often overlooked by many of those gathered though the familiarity for the most part extended no further than the outer appearance of the structure; few had been within the room beyond and even fewer would ever admit it. Usually a crowd of this size being gathered in this part of the city was a sure sign of trouble brewing, but on this day there was a different reason for the gathering. Above the din of the unsettled crowd a single voice could be heard, shouting out insults and provocations, challenging someone--anyone--in the crowd to stand up and fight; normally a presumptuous dare like this would be readily answered, most likely with fists before words, but here and now the crowd simply murmured to itself, no one moving to step forward to answer the call.
The man calling for a challenger was small and gaunt, a weasel-like man who looked none-too-threatening; though this was the man calling for a fight, he was not the one seeking to brawl; behind the brassy man stood the challenge the crowd was being called to defeat. Standing with arms folded across a barrel-like chest the huge man towered above most of the crowd, and almost certainly his girth nearly doubled that of most of the individuals gathered. The bulging muscles of his bare torso rippled and flexed as he stood with a frightening scowl upon his face; if the man himself wasn't threatening enough to warn most passers-by that this was a fight they did not want to enter, surely the blood of the previous contender that still stained the concrete was deterrent enough to keep the crowd at bay.
The large man, who was simply referred to by the weasel-like character as the Champ, was undefeated, or so the weasel claimed; though there were obvious doubts as to the truth of this statement none of the gathered crowd were willing to dispute it aloud--not with the scent of blood still heavy in the air from the defeat of the last man who had boldly dared to suggest that he could uncrown the Champ. Still the weasel called out for challengers--a small payment to try your luck and a large cash prize should you succeed to defeat the Champ--but none gathered seemed eager to enter the challenge. The crowd, restless and quickly growing bored with the inaction, was beginning to disperse and the weasel, seeing that he was quickly losing the crowd and knowing that once word spread of him and the Champ there would be few foolish enough to become a paying 'customer' called out one final offer in hopes of attracting a couple more dupes.
"Five hundred gold!" he shouted over the clamor of the crowd, his nasally voice nearly cracking with the strain of raising it so. "Five hundred gold to any who can defeat the Champ!"
A new murmur arose from the once more attentive crowd, this one of quiet wonder. Five hundred gold was a lot of money--surely someone would take the challenge? But it seemed that none of the crowd felt particularly brave tonight--not even for such a large sum of money. The weasel was nearly about to give up on attracting another customer when a figure broke to the forefront of the gathered crowd.
"I'll take your money," the figure offered with a bit of a grin.
The weasel almost couldn't believe his ears. He eyed the challenger skeptically; certainly specific features were indistinct at best in the shadowy darkness of the underground alley, but it wasn't difficult to see that the young man who stood before him was hardly any larger than the weasel himself and surely the smallest of the night's challengers. It would almost be a shame to take the whelp's money...Almost. Without the burden of a conscience the weasel hardly gave a second thought to the eminent pain the young man would be walking into and instead focused his attentions on taking the customer's money, seeing fit to inform him only after pocketing the cash payment that the weapon he carried with him was not admissible in the fight.
Having been expecting an argument the weasel was surprised when the young man simply shrugged before undoing the clasp that secured the weapon and it's sheath to his belt. Carelessly the young man held out the weapon, in it's sheath, to the weasel for holding during the fight. The weasel suppressed a smirk as he took the weapon from the young man's gloved hands-- by the end of the fight he was sure the young man would be in no condition to retrieve his weapon, and judging from what he could see of the hilt and gauge from the weight the weasel guessed that the sword would bring in a satisfactory amount of cash from the nearest weapons tradesman.
"Any time you're ready then," the weasel offered, gesturing with one hand to the hulking brute who stood waiting nearby.
The crowd had backed away in anticipation of the fight, clearing an area for the combatants and forming a sort of ring around them, closing them in on three sides with the wall of the alley fully enclosing them on the fourth side. The crowd was bloodthirsty, eager for another foolish challenger to be trounced by the Champ; after all, this was what they had all gathered to see.
Within the clearing the weasel backed away, leaning confidently against the wall as he watched the challenger and the Champ eye each other. In his mind the weasel was trying to gauge how long this fight would last. A few moments? If the challenger was quick on his toes and the Champ was feeling generous, perhaps a minute. He hadn't thought there would be a point in calling bets on who would win--certainly no one would bet on the undersized challenger--but perhaps he should have accepted bets on the time it would take for the Champ to crush this whelp....Looking to his watch the weasel waited for the first move to begin the fight.
It was the Champ who moved first, stepping forward and swinging low at the small figure who didn't even reach his shoulders. It seemed that he meant to make short work of this upstart, but the challenger didn't intend to be beaten so quickly; he ducked the punch and then to the observers' surprise and amusement he stayed down, taking the opportunity opened by the Champ's wide punch to scamper between his opponent's legs, climbing to his feet behind the Champ and taking the time to brush himself off as he stood before turning around to face his adversary.
In the time it took for the challenger to turn his attention back to the Champ the brute had spun about, following his opponent with surprising speed for a man of his size though his spin was perhaps a bit unsteady. The challenger seemed to be a bit surprised by his opponent's speedy turn and the Champ's next swing made contact with the small challenger, but because the quick young man had managed a slight backstep the Champ's punch only clipped his shoulder; however, this brief contact was enough to stagger the challenger, forcing him to turn with the punch and stumble back, cursing lightly under his breath.
With another surprising show of speed the Champ followed his backtracking opponent, figuring that this was the perfect opportunity to make quick work of the challenger who had been forced to cut short his retreat due to the confines of the small, enclosed area.
Facing the wall with hands pressed against the hard surface the young man glanced briefly at the weasel who stood nearby; the weasel wore a cocksure grin on his face as he returned the small challenger's gaze. To the weasel's surprise the whelp returned the look with a self-assured grin of his own before pushing away from the wall, using the surface as a base to increase his own momentum as he stepped back towards the Champ, drawing his elbow up into the brute's sternum. Despite the added strength behind the blow the strike hardly elicited a quiet grunt from the Champ; it was, however, enough to momentarily surprise him and interrupt the impending attack. Then, predicting the Champ's next move the young man ducked down, narrowly avoiding the huge arms that had swung forward to grab him; as he ducked the challenger tugged at the fingers of one of his gloves, pulling the dark kidskin from his hand.
The Champ swung downwards and the young man took the full force of a blow to the back of his shoulder, a hit that drove the challenger to his hands and knees on the concrete. Moving quickly so as to avoid another blow like the last the young man turned and rolled to the side, kicking low at the brute's knee from his back on the ground, buying himself the few precious seconds he needed to climb back to his feet and step back. A few quick steps brought the young man's back against the wall and the Champ grinned; he had his agile opponent cornered.
The weasel glanced down at his watch and nodded--less than a minute. Truthfully, he was surprised the whelp had lasted this long.
Wincing slightly at the pain in his shoulder the young challenger awaited the next blow; to his surprise instead of dealing out a painful hit the Champ reached out with one hand and grabbed the young man by the collar; he had no intention of allowing the quick young man to dodge any more blows. The young man was pleasantly surprised--this would make things far less painful for him. As the Champ pulled back his free arm for a solid blow the small challenger moved quickly, raising his bare hand and pressing it to the arm that held him in place, wrapping his fingers around the Champ's forearm as if making a futile attempt to free himself from the brute's grasp.
No sooner had the young man's bare hand made contact with the brute's skin than the Champ pulled away, releasing the challenger and staggering back, clutching his arm to his chest as though the young man's touch had caused excruciating pain.
With a knowing smirk the young man stood back and waited.
Enraged at the fact that this pint-sized challenger had managed to actually hurt him, and in front of a crowd nonetheless, the Champ growled and charged back in, noticing briefly as the young man raised his bare hand that the palm was marred by a strange, unnatural marking; however, whatever this might have meant was lost to him as the young man's hand contacted his bare chest. The Champ's charge halted before it had hardly begun and the Champ staggered backwards, the pain that greeted him the only thing on his mind. Suddenly the brute collapsed, toppling backwards like a felled tree. There was a moment of breathless anticipation as the crowd waited, wondering if the Champ would climb back to his feet or stay down.
While it was still becoming evident that the Champ was down and out the young challenger had already accepted his victory as obvious and pulled the kidskin glove back onto his hand. Holding out a gloved hand to the weasel expectantly the young man accepted the return of his weapon and moved to fasten it once more to his belt. The weasel, realizing that the Champ had been completely defeated by the unexpected challenger, knew that he would have to hand over the five hundred gold next. He eyed the crowd nervously, searching the wall of people for an escape route--anything to avoid having to hand over the cash prize--but the crowd was tightly packed and the weasel knew that should he try to flee the crowd would not take his attempt at escape kindly. With a scowl of resignation the weasel eyed the young man's once more outstretched hand before depositing into it a pouch filled with coins--it likely didn't contain the full five hundred gold that he had promised, but it would certainly be close--it was the complete earnings of the duo over the past few weeks and it was all the weasel could give; he only hoped that the young man didn't decide to get picky.
The young man accepted the pouch, weighed it briefly in his hand and eyed the weasel suspiciously before opening the pouch slightly and peering inside. He frowned briefly as if he knew that the full promised prize wasn't there, but then sighed and closed the pouch, evidently accepting the payment as good enough. He eyed the weasel again tersely before flashing a deliberate smirk the shyster's way.
"Pleasure doing business with you."
The weasel scowled in reply and continued to frown at the young man's back as he walked away, quickly disappearing into the now dissolving crowd of people. As the gathering broke apart the weasel stepped up to his unconscious partner, angrily kicking out at the unknowing brute. Weeks of hard work lost just like that. And to who? Some nobody wise-guy with more tricks up his sleeve than even the weasel himself! A wise-guy, the weasel decided suddenly, who was going to regret his actions.
As if in answer to the weasel's decision the nondescript door--the door that was so often disregarded and forgotten, hidden away in the shadows of the dark, underground alley--swung open on silent hinges...