Victor of Tucson

Victor could feel the rage building. He could feel it streaming into the special pathways that ran parallel to the more robust ones he’d built up along with his Core. Each time Qi Pot struck a painful blow with that deadly, slippery, shadow-clad rapier, another surge of the potent heat rushed out of Victor’s Core and into his body. Despite his awareness of it, despite knowing how it affected him, Victor couldn’t keep the fury from creeping into his mind, clouding his vision with a red lust for vengeance and slaughter.

He gnashed his teeth and growled, grunting as he fought, jabbing his great, heavy spear more and more deftly. His defensive battle had slowly shifted to the offense as he cared less and less for his health and slowly stopped trying to avoid Qi Pot’s slashes and stabs. He’d known this would happen. He’d planned on it. When he first saw Qi Pot in the negotiation, taken in his lengthy, wiry fencer’s build and seen his long, slender rapier, Victor had known how this fight would go.

Qi Pot’s strategy was clear: he saw Victor as a brutish, barbaric berserker who relied on his overwhelming strength and ferocity to win fights. In that case, Qi Pot intended to wear him down much as a matador bleeds out the great bull, so much stronger and fiercer than himself. His speed and grace were remarkable; at the start of the fight, he’d deftly maneuvered around Victor’s spear, scoring gashes on his hands and arms, stabbing the tip of that lightning-fast weapon into his ribs, stomach, chest, and back. He stabbed it into his thighs, his glutes—everywhere.

Victor was crimson with his blood, and if the arena's sands weren’t black and red, they’d be painted, too. Even so, the dark, wet streaks were plain for all to see. Victor had lost gallons of blood. The problem for Qi Pot was that Victor was more than enormously resilient. A man like Qi Pot could cope with resilience. Despite his great vitality and the durability of his Quinametzin flesh and bone, Victor bled, and if something could bleed, it would eventually grow weak and slow. With the accumulation of hundreds or thousands of wounds, Victor would be vanquished. Unfortunately, Victor was more than resilient.

Victor had the regenerative capabilities of a monstrous behemoth; as Qi Pot lashed that wickedly fast, wickedly sharp rapier in and out, Victor bled, his wound closed, and his body regenerated the lost blood. Before the rage began to overtake his mind, Victor wondered where his new blood and flesh came from. Was it manifested from Energy? Was it pulling molecules out of the air and altering them? Was he somehow splitting and multiplying his cells? His mind didn’t linger on the question long; each cut added to the other half of the equation that summed up Qi Pot’s doom: his rage.

Victor’s ability to heal and stay fresh despite his mounting wound tally was one thing, but every cut and stab also added to his “furious battle momentum.” As rage filled Victor’s extra pathway and began to infuse his flesh, he healed even more rapidly, and, worse for Qi Pot, he became stronger and faster. And so, after dragging the fight out for nearly twenty minutes—a short time in the grand scheme of things but a very long time in a life-and-death contest—Victor’s fury became unbearable, and he lost all sense of strategy.

He lashed out with the spear, and the rage fueled his movements. The great, weighty weapon was like a feather in his hands, and it ripped the air with whistling shrieks as he stabbed and hacked the double-edged spear blade about. For the first time, he fought like he meant it, and despite his blind fury, he used the weapon’s length to his advantage, bullying the rapier-wielding Qi Pot into a full-blown retreat.

Qi Pot wasn’t just a fighter, though; he was a man who’d achieved great heights as a cultivator of Energy. He gathered shadows and fire, making himself momentarily ghostly, flickering with dark flames as he streaked around the arena, seeking to find Victor’s flank again. Victor was so fast, so strong, so utterly dominant that Qi Pot had to burn more and more Energy to move outside the arc of the berserker’s enormous reach. He became a specter of black flames, and his rapier thrusts shot forth like arcs of molten metallic fire that splashed against Victor, charring his bloody clothes but hardly marring the titanic warrior’s flesh.

Victor began to laugh—a maniacal, madness-tinged sound that echoed hoarsely through the arena, silencing the crowd as they watched him glide over the sand, a predator closing in for the kill. His eyes blazed with molten fire, smoke drifted from his nostrils, and though Qi Pot continued to score magical blows, burning enormous torrents of Energy to stay ahead of Victor’s lightning pursuit, he only empowered the berserker further.

The onlookers had been raucous at first, cheering for both warriors at the start of the fight. As Qi Pot bled Victor bit by bit, skillfully dancing in and out, leaving a bloody mark on Victor’s flesh or plain yellow tunic with each attack, the crowd had cheered. They’d grown wild with adoration for Qi Pot’s flourishes, and he’d put on quite a show for them, whipping his rapier through the air as he performed mocking bows, his face full of contempt. Now, though, Qi Pot’s confident smile was gone; his movements were precise and lacked extraneous flourishes.

Victor couldn’t savor the destruction of Qi Pot’s morale. He was too busy fantasizing about dismembering him. Red visions of bloody destruction ran through his mind as he pursued the smaller man, and each time those dark, fiery shadows lashed out, the red filter on his vision grew darker, and his muscles surged with renewed strength and speed. He hacked his spear like a club or sword—or axe—and it shrieked through the air, never intended by its maker to be used in such a manner. Still, the force of those hacks was undeniable; the weapon's length and the absurd power behind the blows made it harder and harder for Qi Pot to avoid, even in his dark, shadowy, fire form. Eventually, it hit home.

The first hacking blow of Victor’s spear caught Qi Pot at the knee and snipped through his flesh and bone like a cleaver through a carrot. The man could barely scream before a follow-up, backhanded, upward slash brought the side of the spear blade into Qi Pot’s armpit, severing his rapier-wielding right arm. After that, Victor dropped the spear and pounced, preferring the feel of flesh and bone crunching under his knuckles, savoring the hot sprays of blood and the coppery taste of victory.

When the veil walker, Grand Judicator Lohanse, gripped his arm and tried to pull him off, Victor instinctively rolled his wrist, grappling with the man out of pure muscle memory. He wrapped his powerful fingers around the veil walker’s wrist and, to the stunned gasps of thousands of spectators, threw Lohanse to the side so he could resume his bloody destruction of Qi Pot’s corpse. Of course, Lohanse wasn’t a child or a mere mortal to be so easily dismissed. He gathered his aura and let it loose indiscriminately, bringing most of the people in the stands to their knees.

Victor felt the aura. It was thick and hot like molten iron, with depthless chasms of pride and mountains of knowledge. It pulled and pressed on him like it might fold his molecules into each other and erase him from existence. Even so, a small part of Victor’s mind, a tiny piece of his rational self, recognized that he’d felt worse. With that little kernel of thought in his barely lucid mind, he growled and stood up from the ruined corpse, his fists dripping blood as he looked with furious, bloodshot eyes into the stunned countenance of the veil walker.

“You will kneel!” the grand judicator growled and clenched his fist. Searing bands of lightning-charged Energy wrapped around Victor and hurled him face-first onto the sand. Even influenced by his furious battle momentum, he couldn’t move his arms inside those straps of burning Energy, and as the lightning crackled, he felt the veil walker’s probing Energy in his pathways, grasping the rage-attuned Energy there and ripping it out. As the fury left Victor, his tense, rigid body relaxed, and Lohanse released his bonds of electrical force.

Victor struggled to his hands and knees and was acutely aware of the quiet. The only sounds coming down to him from the stands were those of people groaning and grumbling as they returned to their seats and recovered from the veil walker’s show of force. Murmurs turned into hushed whispers as they looked down to the sands where Victor knelt beside the ruined corpse of Qi Pot with Lohanse standing tall over him, arms folded.

To Victor’s relief, it seemed the veil walker wasn’t one to hold a grudge. “Stand up then, warrior. You’ve won.” With a grunt, Victor clambered to his feet. Lohanse raised his voice, holding his arms outstretched. “I give you Victor, Champion of Gloria, the winner of today’s contest!” The crowd’s reaction at first was tepid—some cheers and claps sounded from the stands near Queen Kynna’s boxed section. After a few seconds, though, people began to feel encouraged, and fear of the veil walker’s wrath subsided.

More and more cheers resounded, and then Lohanse spoke to Victor, his voice easy to hear despite the din. “Well? What prize will you claim?” He glanced at the bloody mass of flesh and bone that used to be Qi Pot soaking into the sands. Victor frowned, suddenly unwilling to claim the heart of his demolished foe. His anger was gone, and, it seemed, much of his pride and lust for glory were, too. Glancing inward, he saw that this Core was dim. Lohanse had relieved him of more than his rage. Still, he was Quinametzin, and he’d not be so easily cowed.

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“I will have my enemy’s heart.”

Lohanse sighed, tsking. “As you wish.” He raised an arm and announced, his voice booming through the arena, “As his prize, Victor will claim the heart of his foe.” To Victor’s surprise, the crowd’s cheers surged with the announcement, and he felt the adulation tickling his Core, lifting his levels of glory-attuned Energy. He laughed and raised his hands, making bloody fists as he turned in a slow circle. He saw Kynna leaning forward in her throne-like chair, her hands grasping the arms. Her eyes were bright, and when those eyes locked on Victor’s, she inclined her head slightly, dipping her tall crystal crown.

That was when the Energy hit him. As he’d been basking in the roars of the crowd, it had gathered around Qi Pot’s corpse, and the System didn’t care if he was ready or not. It struck him like a poleaxe, knocking the sense from his mind and lifting him off the sands as it poured into his pathways, refilling his Core and then spilling into his flesh as it pushed him toward the next level. It felt like a lot, and Victor wasn’t disappointed when he opened his eyes to a System message:

***Congratulations! You have achieved level 71 Berserker of Unstoppable Momentum and gained 9 strength, 14 vitality, 9 agility, and 9 dexterity.***

“Claim your grisly trophy, warrior,” Lohanse said. “I’ve the nobility of Xan to deal with, but I’d rather you were clear of my arena before I left.”

“I’m okay now, Grand Judicator.” Victor glanced at him and quickly added, “Thanks for helping me cool off.” He knelt by the body of his former adversary, summoning a knife from his ring.

“You aren’t the first rage-attuned fighter I’ve dealt with. Even so, I’ll wait for you to finish. You’re quite impressive, Victor, and I can see you play a long game with these fools, hopefully with the good of Gloria in mind. Even so, don’t become so enamored with yourself that you fail to realize you aren’t the only special fig on the tree. As your queen works to negotiate further duels, your contests will become more difficult. Have you fought a steel seeker yet?”

He waited until Victor yanked the heart out of the body and looked up to nod before continuing, “I suspected as much. Your will is powerful, and for an iron-ranker, your aura is prodigious. You’ll be formidable when you break through to the steel ranks, but only if you live that long. There are those who will recognize the threat you pose. I’m sure many already have. This window, when you are still fighting your way up to the first ceiling—this is when they’ll strike. Be wary of ‘new’ champions in your coming battles.”

Victor peered up from where he knelt, locking eyes with the enigmatic veil walker, but the man only nodded once, and then he was gone, like ashes in a stiff breeze. Victor stood, held his bloody prize aloft, smiling fiercely as the crowd roared their approval, and then he walked out of the arena, his mind more troubled by the veil walker’s words than he’d like to admit. He’d gone further than he’d wanted during the fight; no one would see the way he absolutely dominated Qi Pot and think he wasn’t a threat. Worse, he’d stood up to a veil walker, brushing off his aura like it was a minor discomfort.

“Pinché rage,” he sighed as he stepped into the ready room and found Bryn already waiting.

“You lost control of your affinity?”

“Did it seem that way?”

“I could only imagine that was the case. Why else would you risk death with the judicator?” She chuckled. “Besides, I just heard you cursing your rage.”

“True,” Victor laughed. “Was Kynna angry?”

“Queen Kynna was pleased to have her aggressors dealt with! She asked me to see that you are ‘well treated’ this evening so that you’re ‘fresh and relaxed’ for tomorrow's award ceremony.” Her inflection made it clear that she was quoting Queen Kynna.

“Award ceremony? I didn’t have one for the first duel.”

“She’s aware and asked me to thank you for your patience. Between the celebratory feast and the rapid acceptance of Xan’s duel, there wasn’t time.”

Victor frowned, looking toward the closed door behind Bryn. “She sent my escort to tell me all this? I feel a little snubbed if I’m being honest.”

Bryn stared at him for a long moment, then reached up and lifted her helmet off, cradling it in the crook of her left elbow. To Victor’s horror, she fell to her knees and bowed her head. “My apologies, Lord Champion. I have failed to convey our nation’s gratitude properly. I did my best, but surely Chamberlain Thorn or Queen Kynna, her exalted self, would have been better suited to deliver you home to the palace. I will convey news of my failure to my superior officer, Guard Captain Wash.”

“Damn, Bryn!” Victor chuckled nervously. “Will you please get up? I didn’t mean that—I was just curious why they sent you alone this time.”

“In truth, milord,” Bryn said, head still bowed, “the Queen was eager to hurry back to the palace ahead of you. She has much to prepare for your celebration tomorrow, which will be difficult to orchestrate considering the city is in the midst of a week-long, debauchery-laced festival. When news of this victory reaches the populace, it will be difficult to get anything done.” She cleared her throat and glanced up at him. “And, with a plea for your discretion, I will venture to say that Chamberlain Thorn was afraid to come here after seeing your performance in the arena.”

“All right, all right. Get up, will you?” Victor walked over to the counter where refreshments were on display and used the wash basin there to clean the blood from his hands and arms. Bryn approached and, while he was scrubbing, poured a glass of chilled wine.

“You must be parched.”

“Yeah. Have a glass. We’ll head out after I wash my face.”

“I was going to suggest that; it’s caked with dried blood.”

“I can feel it.” Victor stoppered the drain and let the ornate faucet, cast in the shape of a swan neck, fill it with cool water. While the water ran, he said, “So, what’s on the agenda tonight? How will you see that I’m, uh, what was it? ‘Fresh and relaxed’ tomorrow?” He glanced at Bryn and saw that his attempt at humor had struck a little too close to home; her cheeks were flushed, and she was trying not to look at him. Hastily, he said, “I think a big dinner and some good booze will suit me just fine. Maybe you could invite the old champion. What was his name? Foster? I wouldn’t mind having someone to shoot the breeze with before I hit the sack.”

Bryn’s relief was palpable. Victor could only imagine what she feared he’d ask for. “I think that should be easy enough to arrange! I thought perhaps you’d enjoy a bath and massage—we have a very skilled Elemental Therapist at the palace. I was awarded a session when I was promoted, and it was the most wonderful experience I’ve ever had.”

“Sec.” Victor dunked his head in the basin and scrubbed his hair and face vigorously for several seconds before lifting it out. The water was deep red. “I think a bath would be great, and, shit, yes, I’d like a massage.” He grabbed a towel, dried his face, and gestured to the door. “Shall we?”

“Yes!” Bryn lifted her helmet to her head, then led the way down the corridor to the portal room. “I enjoyed watching your fight tonight, Victor. I could tell some of the others were worried at the start, but I could see you weren’t bothered much by the wounds Qi Pot delivered. He chose the wrong sort of weapon to face one such as you.”

“Yeah.” Victor looked sideways at her. “What kind of weapon do you think would be better?”

“Ideally? Something that would be harder to heal from. A projectile weapon, perhaps. A powerful bow—an artifact that could generate its ammunition, for instance. If the bolts or arrows were driven deeply and difficult to remove, surely they’d take a toll, even against someone with your constitution.”

“Hmm. Yeah, I don’t love arrows. What other ideas do you have?”

“Anything other than a dagger or rapier!” She snorted. “Perhaps a great blade, though everyone saw how you dealt with Obert’s sword. If not a weapon, then perhaps devastating Energy attacks. I think you’d need to take great damage quickly—I can’t see how anyone could win by trying to wear you down inch-by-inch.” She sounded excited to be given leave to discuss strategy, and Victor nodded, encouraging her. “Can you tell me, Victor, how you could bleed so much and still fight? Is it your bloodline?”

“I’ll share some secrets with you, Bryn, but not yet. Let’s get through the next couple of days, find out who I’m fighting next, and then maybe we can talk strategy. Would you like that?”

“Very much, sir! I think you’ll like Foster, too. He knows a great deal about the empire and the many men and women who fight as champions.”

Victor clapped her shoulder as they entered the portal room. “That’s great, Bryn. You’ll join us, of course. Bring a friend, if you want. I mean, you can put that together while I’m getting that massage, yeah?”

She stared at him with wide eyes. “I, um, of course, I’ll be on duty, sir. I’ll be glad to watch over you during your dinner with—”

“Nah, I’ll protect myself tonight, Bryn. Seriously, bring a friend or two. Heck, are you married? Bring your, uh, significant other—whoever you want. We’ll have the meal in my quarters, then sit around and talk about fighting. Yeah, I guess whoever you invite should be interested in that.” Victor nodded, gave her shoulder another slap, then stepped through the portal.

She joined him on the other side of the portal and, as though they hadn’t just traveled thousands of miles, said, “I’ll have the Elemental Therapist sent to your rooms, sir. In the meantime, I’ll begin making the arrangements for the dinner.” After a moment, she added, “Thank you for the invitation.”

Victor smiled, ignoring the other guards in the chamber as he regarded her. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Go ahead and get started on all that. I can make it to my quarters.” She bowed, and Victor left, grinning stupidly. In a way, he was messing with her; he had a good time putting people off balance, and he thought Bryn was kind of funny when she got flustered. Still, he wanted to make some new friends, and he thought she was pretty cool.

As he strode through the palace, heading for his rooms, he couldn’t help but feel good, despite a distant, niggling worry about the veil walker’s words. It only made sense that powerful people were watching the duels. There were tens of thousands of people in those stands; Gloria’s upset victories were sure to draw attention. When he talked Kynna into challenging some neighbors, life was going to get…dangerous. He was ready for it, and as far as scheming steel seekers might go, Victor figured he’d just have to stay a step ahead.

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