Chapter 67 Earl

  The next time I saw Estwin was in the armory. After messing around with the weapon, I had no better strategy than what he had said. Rush the bastard.

  Would my opponent expect that? Probably. Did I have any choices? None. I hoped to cut the rope on the bastard, but I doubted the rope would be easily cut by a knife from the armory. Either way, I grabbed the knuckle duster knife, and I took one of the Essau sticks.

  I also tried a helmet, but got claustrophobic the moment I put it on, and removed it just as fast.

  “You aren’t wearing it?” Estwin asked.

  “Nah. Can’t see a fuckin’ thing. I’m way more likely to be clobbered with it on than without it.”

  He looked doubtful but said nothing.

  “I’ll take the Lamellar armor, and where’re these gorget things? Won’t be doing nothing if I get choked out.”

  It took another ten minutes, but soon enough, I was ready to go. I might have looked ridiculous in the plate gorget I’d chosen as it really didn’t go with the armor, but I didn’t care.

  Despite Estwin’s warnings, I headed to the arena brimming with confidence. My opponent was young and small, and had only one form of attack no matter how wild. If I could catch and pin that metal ball, I was golden.

  We went through the usual process, from waiting in the arena antechamber, to marching out to mixed applause. My first look of my opponent confirmed my thoughts.

  The Nyvren was short but quite muscular, leaning closer to stocky than lean, certainly across his red-skinned shoulders. He wore a vest, which I favored myself, that showed off corded arms. Yellow eyes with slitted pupils watched everything I did, seemingly oblivious of the crowd. He held the coiled rope loosely in his right hand, metal ball no bigger than a fist hanging a few inches from the dusty ground.

  The crowd fell silent for a moment as the announcer’s voice blasted out the introductions.

  “WELCOME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! TODAY WE HAVE THE THIRD FIGHT OF THE LAST SIXTEEN, AND THINGS ARE REALLY HEATING UP NOW. CAN I HAVE A BIG CHEER FOR EARL HENSHAW OF THE VELKYN ARENA POOL FIGHTERS!”

  The crowd went wild, though the boos won the scream off.

  “AND FOR WISL, OF THE NYVREN!”

  He received a hell of an ovation. No boos at all. I didn’t mind, but I felt my fans could have done better.

  I looked him over again. He hadn’t move. Hadn’t taken his eyes off me.

  “FIGHT!”

  I sprang at him, confident I could end it fast. His eyes widened at the attack, but he otherwise remained calm. Flicking up the weight in a lazy motion—that somehow still carried a scary amount of weight—it shot at my head, causing me to sidestep.

  No problem. I threw a jab, he twisted away, and the weight thumped into the back of my head, sending me sprawling into the sand.

  What the fuck! I grumbled, unable to understand exactly what had happened. Thankfully, I had the wherewithal to roll again. The weight smashed into the ground barely an inch from my head.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  I wanted to lunge back in, but I found myself being hounded out of range by incessant attacks from the metal ball of master doom. They came from all angles, and I just couldn’t predict the motion. He was like a fucking feng-shui yo-yo or some shit.

  I took a shot in the ribs that brought tears to my eyes, followed by a glancing blow to the chin that sent me sprawling back just as I’d set my feet.

  Estwin was right. Mid-range was the absolute worst against this weapon. He was the hunter, and I was the rabbit. I hated being the rabbit. It was time to do something about this.

  I regained my feet for the fifth time since the fight started and feinted left, before surging to my right.

  The ruse worked. I attempted to close the distance, changing direction every now and again. Unable to read me, he began swirling the damn thing around, forcing me back again with his sweeping mid-level attack. I had to jump back temporarily, but I was hungry for blood now.

  I feinted right this time, and then darted right.

  The fucker called it, and as soon as my left foot planted on the ground, the metal ball smashed into it.

  I heard the kneecap crack. It should have blown the leg altogether, but Toughness kept me upright long enough to get my other foot underneath me. From there, I launched myself forward.

  The next hit struck my shoulder, and with my left leg already gone and swelling up like a balloon, I was done. Already overbalanced and falling, the weight came in at my chest, and there was not a thing I could do about it except try to grip hold of the weapon. Ball or rope, it didn’t matter.

  After spending a few minutes with this anus, I knew the only way to win this was to control the weapon.

  The impact came, and something cracked in my sternum. But having already accepted the incoming pain, I gripped the rope with my hand before wrapping it around the Essau stick for purchase.

  Bleeding and broken, I had the bastard’s weapon now, and I yanked for all I was worth. He yanked back, hissing something undecipherable at me. But once he realized I wasn’t letting go, he leaped forward

  I saw a glint of metal in his hand. A knife. The cheeky little shit-stain wasn’t supposed to have another weapon! That’s cheating, I thought to no one in particular.

  I couldn’t raise my Essau stick as it was wrapped up in rope, and rolling hurt a lot from the wound on my chest and my shoulder.

  The best I could do was turn my head at the last minute to prevent the knife from burying in my eye. Instead, it ran a cut down my face, but he was already stabbing again.

  I punched out the knuckledusters, which he dodged before clamping a strong hand on my face to hold me still. I bit the hand which he really should have seen coming, then grasped at a part of the rope still held in his knife holding hand.

  To my surprise, I discovered that the knife was tied to the rope, and it slipped from his grasp as he tried to get a better angle of attack.

  A stroke of luck, no doubt, but I wasn’t prissy.

  As he grabbed for the knife in a desperate scrabble, I head-butted the fucker in the nose. Hard to get decent leverage from the ground, but I caught him unprepared. As his nose burst, I saw his eyes come alight with rage, and he smashed his own head down into my face. Repeatedly.

  Motherfucker had a hard head, and there was nothing I could do about it. But just as I’d shown Adam so many times in the past, you didn’t give up until you were dead. No matter how bleak, there was always an option.

  In this case, I distanced my mind from the pain of being pummeled, and managed to loop the rope around the back of his neck with my free hand.

  He reacted immediately, pulling away to stop whatever I’d planned. Despite all of my injuries, I rolled over. It was up there as the most painful thing I’d ever done in my life, but the rope crossed over, and that was enough.

  He panicked as he saw what was coming, and tried to free himself. It was a race, but I had a head start. I yanked on the rope and pulled him back down toward me tightening as I went.

  He sprawled forward to give himself more time, but I managed to snag better leverage on the rope and finished the job, bringing it tight.

  “Shoulda… wore… a gorget. Ya… rope… swingin’ twat,” I blurted out in ragged gasps through a bloody mouth.

  He gagged and writhed. I held on tighter, pulling him closer.

  There was a clear moment when the fight went out of him. Unconscious, but not dead. After the shit he’d just done to me with his stupid weapon, unconscious wasn’t nearly good enough for me.

  “AND WE HAVE A WINNER!”

  You can fuck off as well, I thought as I wrenched upward and over my good shoulder with the rope. I heard a satisfying pop, and the job was done properly.

  The announcer had paused for a moment as I finished the job. Then finished his announcement. “Earl Henshaw is through to the last eight.”

  Boos and cheers wrang out around the arena, but I paid them no mind as I focused on breathing.