5. Pit Night

5. Pit Night

The Rusty Nail was like a bad fever dream to Victor. As the sun set and the crowd grew, he and his comrades from Yund’s stable were kept sequestered in a roped-off section of the enormous warehouse, but he could see the craziness unfold from behind the ropes, just fine. Just like when he’d been led through the streets, he noticed the wide variety of people who cohabitated in this strange world. Red, blue, white, brown, black, tall, thin, short, fat, winged, feathered, furred, hooved, clawed, horned, almost anything he could fucking imagine was represented in the crowd of jostling, drinking, laughing, cussing, and fighting people. As the night outside deepened, the air in the warehouse grew heavy with odors and smoke and heat.

Yund wasn’t the only boss that had brought a troupe of fighters. The various groups, some as large as Yund’s and others with just one or two fighters, were all kept in roped-off areas on the back periphery of the Rusty Nail. The majority of the thousands of square feet in the warehouse's interior were taken up by stands for spectators, mobile food carts, desks for bookies, and a dozen or so pits. The pits were about twenty feet in diameter, about eight feet deep, and each had a big wooden sign on a post that had a number on it. Victor surprised himself by not being a nervous wreck. He thought part of it was that the warehouse and the pits reminded him a lot of the inside of a big gym during a wrestling invitational. The pits were like different mats, and the pit fighters were like wrestling teams. He knew it was a bullshit comparison, but it was keeping him cool, so he didn’t overthink it.

“This is fucking nuts,” he said to Vullu as he watched the crowd grow and a band started playing some strange, wild music on a small stage over by the big doors leading to the festival-like yard outside the warehouse. The music reminded him kind of like some fucking weird mix of country bluegrass and mariachi, with lots of stringed instruments and a really upbeat section of horns blaring over the noise in the crowd.

“Oh, aye. People love Pit Night in this city. There are at least four other locations like this. Yund even hosts a smaller gathering at the Wagon Wheel once a month.”

“Did I hear you use my name, Cadwalli?” Yund turned from where he’d been talking to a sleazy-looking little blue guy and scowled at Vullu.

“No, boss, I think that came from just behind me. Not sure who it was.”

“Right,” Yund glowered at him for a moment, then turned back to the clipboard the little blue man was holding. After a few minutes and some grunted curses, Yund chased the guy away and then turned to his gathered troupe of fighter-slaves. “Listen up, you dogs!”

“Are there dogs here?” Victor asked Vullu quietly.This chapter was first shared on the Ñøv€lß1n platform.

“Of course!” he said, then held a finger to his lips.

“We’re overrepresented, and that little asshole just let me know that I need to adjust our roster to make up for it. That means some of you fodder will be fighting as a group against a stronger opponent. It’s your chance for glory! You’ll get a gold-tier reward when we get back to the Wagon Wheel if you win! Get yourselves ready - you know who you are.” Then he turned and walked over to a table where a harried, white-haired woman was frantically flipping through some papers.

“That’s you, kiddo,” Yrella said from behind Victor.

“That didn’t sound like good news to me.”

“Not really. Just remember: no matter how strong, a fatal wound is a fatal wound. There are no trinkets or potions allowed in the pits. Cut through a neck, pierce a heart, smash a skull, and you can win.” Yrella rubbed the outsides of Victor’s shoulders briskly, then gave them a good slap. “Get your fire up, kid. You need to win; there’s no other option.” Victor nodded, scowling, trying to get himself pumped. He slapped his hands together and jogged in place, and then Yund was back.

“I didn’t lay down when ap’Guin’s men raped my wife. I didn’t stand down when my men and I tore his household limb from limb. I didn’t stand down when the Count burned my estate. I didn’t stand down when the farcical trial sent me to the mines. I didn’t stand down when I was sold to this hell. No, you will have to finish me kicking and screaming the whole way.”

“Quite a speech! Did you rehearse that?” She glided over the sandy ground to the winged man like a rattler darting toward a mouse. They exchanged a flurry of blows and blocks that Victor couldn’t keep track of, but he didn’t care; he’d been waiting for this moment, and he flicked the spear up with the top of his old worn Adidas, grabbed the haft in his right hand and chucked it like a javelin at the woman’s back. She must have sensed his movement because she whirled around as though to strike him, but it wasn’t him ripping through the air; it was a sharp spear. Her outflung arm deflected the spear’s trajectory, but it tore a long gash along her forearm. As she hissed and grabbed at the cut with her other hand, the winged dude landed a thunderous haymaker into the back of her skull.

Victor figured that if the winged guy were stronger, it would have been lights out for Big Red, but though she stumbled forward, shaking her head, she didn’t go down. That’s when the otter-woman strode forward past Victor, hands outstretched. Victor felt the air temperature drop, and then white frost started forming around the otter-woman’s hands, and a spray of tiny shards of ice blasted out, tearing into the Shadeni woman. She screamed, holding her arms in front of her face, then she whirled away, rolling over the sand to the spear against the far wall. The spray of ice shards sputtered out, and the otter-woman leaned forward, gasping for breath. Victor ran toward the other spear, looking around to see what the fuck the rest of his team was doing. Asslick was lying still on his back, eyes open and staring. Was he fucking dead? The other blue guy was scrabbling at the pit's edge, trying to climb out.

“You fucking dick! Get down and fight!” Victor screamed as he slid into the spear like he was coming in hot to home base. He scooped up the spear, scrambled to his feet, and whirled to face the Shadeni woman. She wasn’t where he’d last seen her, though; she was standing over the otter-woman, spear buried in her furry chest. “Fuck!” Victor choked out when he saw the blood bubbling out of the woman’s sad-looking mouth and her moist eyes slowly blinking while she scratched fruitlessly at the sand with her little, webbed hands. Big Red twisted the spear a couple of times, then yanked it free, trailing an arc of bright crimson blood.

“What’s your name, Shadeni?” The winged guy asked as he circled behind her, trying, Victor thought, to get her to turn her back on him again.

“I’m Thessa-dak. Learn it well, Ghelli; my offer of a quick death has been rescinded.” She didn’t look at the winged man while she spoke; she hefted her spear and turned to the blue guy who had given up climbing out of the pit and was leaning with his back to the wall, edging sideways. Maybe the laughing, jeering spectators standing above him had something to do with his decision to stop trying to climb. A slow grin spread on Big Red’s face, then she took two steps and let the spear fly. It punched through the blue guy’s chest and pinned him to the wooden wall of the pit. A short scream tore out of his throat, but it quickly subsided to soft gurgling.

“Hey, pendeja, you think it makes you tough to fuck up some people weaker than you?” Victor didn’t really give a shit about the chickenshit guy she’d just killed, but he was fucking torn up about that otter-woman. He felt tears stinging his eyes, but they were tears of futile rage, not fear. “This fight is fucking bullshit!” He started striding toward Big Red, reason having fled his mind. He dropped low, spear out, and went through the motions as he had practiced with Yrella and Vullu. At first, a tiny voice in the back of his mind said he was committing suicide, and though he tuned it out, he knew a part of him believed he was about to die. After he’d blinked away his frustrated tears, though, the only thing left in his mind was furious rage. Rage at being tossed into this pit, rage at being summoned to this world, rage at this fucking bitch that killed that soft little Otter-woman.

She was fast and strong, but every time she started to push past Victor’s guard, the winged guy would dart forward and land a kidney punch or a snap kick, and she’d be forced to back away to regroup. She was getting visibly frustrated; she was more than a match for either of them, but now that they’d found a rhythm, they were beginning to wear her down. Suddenly she hissed loudly and screamed, turning away from Victor and leaping through the air, a move that would have made a pro baller proud, and landed on the winged guy, driving him to the ground. Victor didn’t waste a second, though; while she was bearing him to the ground, biting at his neck, Victor charged forward and drove the spear into her lower back, punching it through where he figured her kidney should be. She screamed and writhed, turning toward Victor, but the winged guy grabbed her in a bear hug, wrapping his arms and legs around her and holding her down. Victor yanked the spear out and drove it again and again, filling her back with gushing, spurting holes.

Finally, Thessa-dak stopped thrashing and lay still on top of the bloody, panting man. Victor leaned forward on his spear, lungs heaving for breath.

“I am Sarl, brother. I take it you are Victor?” the man gasped, trying to shove the woman off himself.

“Yeah, Sarl, that’s me. Good to meet you. What the fuck....” Victor cut himself off as he watched motes of golden Energy start to bead up and coalesce all around Thessa-dak’s body. A great swarm of them split into two streams and flooded into him and Sarl.

***Congratulations! You’ve achieved level 3 base human. You have 5 attribute points to allocate.***

The euphoria of the Energy flooding him filled Victor with strength, and he stood up straight, looking around the edge of the pit. For the first time, he noticed the roaring of the crowd, their cheers, and stomping feet. He felt high from the influx of Energy, and the cheers filled him with that old feeling he used to get when he pinned an opponent, so he held up his fist, screaming triumphantly into the face of the crowd.