Chapter 51: The Ancient Art of Winning a Fight (Patreon)

***Vol***

“Why are you asking me this?” Vol asked, leaning back in his seat.

“Because Tom can’t win,” Nema said, her eyes bloodshot from crying. “He decided to use his ‘gun’ instead of the sword, against my suggestion. I tested it on myself. It’s loud as brekor, but it’s less than lethal.” She said, holding up a swollen hand for Vol to see. “It won’t work on a Vith drawing from their well, but he refuses to listen. The damn thing only has five shots left, too!”

“So that was the noise earlier today. What exactly did you want from me?”

“I want Tom to live, unspoiled. I want you to go easy on him until he can’t fight anymore, without causing any irreversible damage.” Nema said, “If you do that, I’ll tell you exactly how to beat him.”

“That’s tempting, but according to you, I’m going to win anyway.” Vol said, feeling a grin stretching across his face. The first real smile he’d experienced since his last trip into the forest. “I fail to see what I gain if I spare his life. If he dies, you-”

“Kill myself.” Nema said, her voice stony.

Vol’s smile faded.

“I know what you’re thinking. ‘Oh, after Tom is dead, Nema will just run away into the desert where I can chase her down and do whatever I want with her.’ Well, let me tell you, it doesn’t matter what the outcome of this fight is, you will never have me.”

Vol’s jovial mood soured.

“You really want to ruin the little goodwill you’ve acquired with the rest of the village by murdering a man who simply cannot beat you? Bear in mind this fight will be public. Do you really want them to think you’re a murderer?”

“I can easily break one of the outsider’s freakishly long limbs by accident,” Vol shot back. “No one will fault me for that, and I’d like to see that enormous baby survive the desert with a broken leg.”

“Come to think of it, the rumor among the women is that he can heal grievous wounds with his magic, so why should I bother holding back?”

“You know that’s one of the things you’re trying to take from him.” Nema said, her full lips drawn into a pout. “If you do win, he won’t be able to fix himself.”

“The answer is no,” Vol said, the smile returning to his face. “Unless you’ve got a better offer to stay my hand,” he said, leaning forward and resting his hand on Nema’s shoulder.

***Tom Graves***

“I should have known this would inconvenience me,” Gunn said, shaking his head while rubbing his temple with his good hand. “Alright, challenging Vol bought you three extra days to prepare, so I’m going to teach you the ancient art of…winning a fight.”

Tom cocked his head. “Not how to tap into my well or whatever passes for combat training around here?”

Gunn waved him off with a loud, obnoxious raspberry.

“Bones, no. Vol’s not a warrior per se, but he’s been training and sparring with them off and on his entire life. He’s been tapping into his well since he was twelve. You, on the other hand, used a weapon in anger for the first time a couple months ago, and it was some idiotic invention where you pull a tiny little lever made of metal and the other man dies.”

“That’s a bit of an oversimplificati-“

“How many fights have you been in?”

Tom’s entire school history flashed in front of his eyes.

“Umm…ones where I hit them back?”

Gunn clenched his fist and stared up at the sky.

“Gods you are soft.”

Tom couldn’t really argue with that.

“Listen, there isa secret technique I could teach you in three days that just might be able to prepare you for what you’re about to face, but to master it, you’ll have to endure a lot of pain.”

Tom nodded. “Okay, let’s do that. What do we do?”I wonder if it’s some way of harnessing soul pulses and turning them into an attack. Like a Kamehameha or something. It’s probably not the Vith ‘well’, because I’m fairly sure that’s hereditary, like my dreaming.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’ve already challenged Vol to Kla’desh, so backing out now isn’t really an option.”

“All right. If you’re sure you want to learn this technique, allow me to demonstrate.” Gunn said, reaching into the leather pocket stitched to the front of his tunic.

In a flash, the old man threw a pinch of sand directly into Tom’s face.

Tom was unable to blink in time and the sand slammed into his sensitive corneas, causing extreme discomfort. Tom reflexively covered his face to prevent more sand from entering, while his tear ducts filled his eyes with goop, trying to flush out the irritant.

Even if he took his hands away from his face, Tom wouldn’t have been able to see a thing through the tears and the sand.

A moment later, an impact in Tom’s lower body caused him to stagger as Gunn kicked him in the balls.

“Eep!” Nema squealed in sympathetic pain.

Tom heard Suzie give an indignant ‘WARK’ before he felt her bite down on the elder’s ankle with her toothless mouth.

Tom sank to his knees. It felt like roots were literally growing into his body through his crotch, strangling his lungs. Tom laid there on the ground, wordlessly moaning for nearly three minutes as the pain radiated through his entire body.

Eventually the roots let go of his lungs, and Tom was able to gasp out: “A. Sucker. Punch?”

“Indeed.” Gunn said, nodding through the blurry haze of Tom’s tears. “You’ve got zero training, zero practice, and zero aptitude. Let’s face it. You’re not a fighter. Vol’s not a fighter either, but he’s lived his entire life in ourworld, not some utopia where you can sit on your ass and play ‘video games’ all day with your friends and have your parents order ‘pizza’ for everyone, eating until you can’t possibly eat another bite, then throwing the rest away, your only responsibility in life arriving at ‘school’ the next day, where fighting is vehemently discouraged.”

Yeah, he did look kind of pissed when I accidentally let ‘Pizza Parties’ slip, Tom thought, struggling to his knees.

“If you want to win against Vol, you’re going to have to be swift, calculated, brutal…downright cruel. Otherwise you die.”

“You could have just told me,” Tom said, climbing back to his feet, his knees wobbling alarmingly as he carefully tried to blink the sand out of his eyes without scratching the cornea, still largely blind.

“I wanted to make a point.” Gunn said, carefully detaching Suzie from his ankle.

“Point made. You got anything to teach me other than kicking me in the junk?” Tom asked.

Gun paused a moment before he continued. “Part of what makes a true Vith warrior is a powerful, comprehensive control over their well. A Vith warrior must be able to reinforce specific parts of the body hundredfold, rather than allow the energy to spread out. Two major parts of the body a Vith warrior is required to be able to reinforce to this extent are his eyes and his stones, for obvious reasons.

These sensitive bits are very difficult to reinforce to the point where they are no longer viable targets in a fight. Vol cannot do this. He can draw on his well and reinforce his entire body several times over, same as any of us, but even if a pair of balls is a few times more durable than usual, a solid kick will still put them out of commission.”

“That’s true, I kicked Vol in the stones last month.” Nema said, nodding sagely.

“Anything else?” Tom asked, anger simmering. “Or did you just waste my time?”

Gunn must have expected a bit of sass from Tom, because he ignored it. “I’ve got dozens of tips on various cheap shots I’ve learned over the years,” Gun said, motioning for Tom to follow him. “This part we can do sitting down.”

“Thank God.” Tom said, staggering after the elder and collapsing onto the floor of the old man’s hut.

“Now if you get hit with a punch that cuts the inside of your lip, you can save up the blood in your cheeks and spit it in the opponent’s eyes when grappling….

“The elbow is one of the hardest parts on the human body, with a ridiculous amount of leverage. If you can put your whole body weight into the other man’s neck, temple, or groin….

“It’s actually quite easy to rip off a man’s ear….

Tom spent the rest of the morning mentally taking notes as the elder unloaded a truckload of street fighting techniques that would get you banned from any major sports franchise. Or jail-time.

On Orsoth, it was just regular fighting.

***Later***

Tom stood across from Vol, the handle of the revolver slippery from sweat. The blood-sword was cool, sharp, and it could cut stone, but Tom was pretty sure that the psycho shaman would tear it out of his hand and butcher him with it.

The revolver would be an unknown quantity.

God, I hope this works, Tom thought, unconsciously wiping the sweat off his hands for the sixth time.

Elder Gunn had said he had to be as underhanded and mean as possible if he wanted to win.

Tom wanted to win.

Tom’s chances of ever reaching his daughter relied heavily on keeping his crypts, his books, Jacob’s truck, and all the Soul monger supplies he’d accumulated since he’d arrived.

It wasn’t just a bunch of stuff. It represented a future where he saw his little girl again.

So if Tom had to be unapologetically underhanded…Tom hefted the heavy revolver. So be it.

The crowd watch with increasing stillness as the two combatants faced off in the center of a sandy circle, about twenty paces wide.

Tom’s heartbeat was practically rattling his teeth, burying the hushed whispers of the audience.

In Tom’s corner, Nema stood ready to hand him the sword, or the healing crypt, which had been juiced up enough to cover five or so healings over the last three days. Beside her was the pile of Tom’s mojo in the unlikely case the competition took a turn for the nonviolent.

There was no one in Vol’s corner. A fact that Tom couldn’t help but take a little comfort in.

A normal Kla’desh involved the two opponents performing rituals to summon aid from spirits, or grandstanding, shouting over each other, trying to sway the crowd.

There were an infinite number of ways to prove you were a better shaman, and usually it didn’t involve violence. But…Tom and Vol had quite a bit of bad blood between them, so everyone expected fists to be thrown.

The chief stepped out into the center of the ring, glanced between the two of them with a measure gaze, then shouted:

“Begin!”

He stepped out from between the two of them and Tom was surprised to see Vol halfway across the circle already.

Shit, shit, shit!

Tom verycarefully aimed at Vol, who continued loping forward, seemingly unconcerned with the gun. Man, it would be really nice if this worked right off the bat.Tom thought. After Nema tested it, though, he didn’t think it would.

BOOM!

The revolver bucked in Tom’s hand, sending a sliver of death rocketing forward at supersonic speeds…

Vol staggered backwards, wincing. He reached down and peeled a pancake of flattened lead off his abraided skin, giving Tom a smug smile. The audience broke out into loud chatter, about how loud Tom’s gun had been, yet how comparatively weak it was.

“Oh no, the outsider’s power is too great, whatever shall I do?” Vol said, showing the lead pancake to the audience.

Yeah, that’s right, dude, you’ve got total control here.

Tom staggered backwards, and carefully lined up four more shots as Vol approached at a more sedate pace, seemingly hamming it up for the audience as he shrugged off round after round.

Which isthe plan.

After the fifth shot, Tom snarled and tossed the gun aside, going for a punch. Vol was already inside Tom’s reach.

The shaman lazily reached up and caught the blow, his palm feeling like Tom had just punched a brick wall. Tom let a hiss of pain out from between his teeth before he tried to pull his hand away. It was stuck.

“What was that, five good bruises? Vol said, tapping his chest with his free hand. “It was almost a decent punch from a warrior. Let me show you.”

Tom winced, and a moment later, a blow struck his ribs, driving all the wind out of his body.

Vol released Tom’ hand as Tom collapsed to the ground, desperately trying to breath. The simple plan that Tom had constructed to win this was being scoured away by the throbbing pain that seemed to radiate through his entire being.

Tom shoved himself back to his feet and went for another punch. Vol easily sidestepped it and delivered another strike to Tom’s chest, causing his ribs to creak as he staggered backward and fell to his knees.

“That’s two. Just three more until you’re even.” He bent down until his head was beside Tom’s. “Unless you wish to concede while you’re still whole?”

“Remember your training, you idiot!” Elder Gunn shouted, his voice barely audible over the other spectators and the incessant drumming of Tom’s heart.

Tom glanced down at the gritty earth under his hands.

“No, I’m gonna do this right!” Tom shouted for Vol’s benefit, climbing back to his feet and taking another swing. Vol slid out of the way and delivered another punch to Tom’s midsection, sending Tom toppling back to the ground.

Tom let out a strangled croak as Vol grabbed the back of his neck. For a horrifying instant, Tom thought the shaman was going to simply pinch, Collapsing the bone of Tom’s neck into his spinal column.

Instead the shaman lifted him up over his head and threw him headfirst at the audience.

Tom went flying, flailing the whole way until he impacted the hapless civilians, who easily caught him and sent him flying back like he was a beach ball.

Tom hit the ground and tumbled, sand flying up in the air as he rolled to a halt.

My body is pain,Tom thought, struggling back to his feet. The only reason nothing was broken was because Vol was taking it easy on him. The shaman could have easily taken him out of the fight with a submission hold or simply broke both his legs with a single kick.

Tom was playing with fire, here.

“Feel free to give up at any time, outsider, while I’m feeling generous. I want you to survive your banishment, after all. This can’t end until you give up.”

Still acting like the good guy, Tom gritted his teeth, the anger flushing away a bit of the pain.

Tom glanced behind himself and noticed he was closer to Vol’s corner than his own. His gun was about ten feet away from Nema, resting on the ground. Vol was standing between him and Nema.

Damnit.

Tom lunged forward with an over-extended punch, putting extra effort into the forward dash, giving him plenty of momentum.

Vol easily leaned out of the way, caught Tom’s arm and twisted it as he sailed past.

Pop!

The pain made Tom gasp in some dust as he hit the ground. Tom rolled to a halt and began coughing violently, peering through tears to assess his location. He was closer to Nema than Vol again, which was good.

The problem was that Vol was starting to lose patience with the fight.

Tom’s noodly, pain-filled right arm attested to that. Tom blinked the tears out of his arm and tried to stand, finding it more difficult than he could’ve imagined, his body battered as it was.

Arm’s…probably dislocated. He didn’t feel any unnatural bend anywhere along the bone, there was no gross right angles where there shouldn’t have been. Only a throbbing pain in his shoulder, and spikes of fire every time he tried to move it.

Well, I feel like I got hit by a bus, Tom thought, struggling to breathe through his bruised lungs. He staggered toward Nema, who offered him the healing crypt. Tom held it to his shoulder and mentally nudged it.

A blast of cold energy swept through his body, removing the litany of bruises and setting his arm in brief burst of pain. Once Tom was fixed, he passed the crypt back to Nema.

Playing the good sportsman, Vol watched all this with an amused smirk.

Tom charged him again, clumsily swinging his left hand for an unexpected left hook.

Vol expected it.

The shaman caught Tom’s arm, and for a brief instant, Tom thought he could feel the shaman’s soul pulses peak, a distinct friction between the power in Tom’s chest and that in Vol’s before –

CRACK!

Tom had never broken a bone before.

It sucked.

Everything about it was just WRONG. Tom didn’t bother holding the scream in as he staggered backwards, his arm flopping around with little control, the broken pieces of bone grinding against each other inside his arm in a way that sent shivers of disgust down the back of his neck.

“You can give up any time you want!” Vol said before turning back to the audience and walking toward the onlookers, leaving Tom kneeling near the center of the ring of spectators.

“He’s making this harder on himself!” Vol said to them as Tom began to shuffle toward Nema, creating plenty of distance between himself and Vol while the shaman was grandstanding. “How am I supposed to fight a man with the strength of a child?”

“Now?” Nema asked as he staggered toward her.

“Now.” Tom confirmed.

The little vith woman reached into Tom’s pile of supplies and retrieved a cannister with a roaring bear printed in the side. One of the cokehead’s emergency supplies in his glove box.

Thanks, Jacob.

Vol turned around with a grin, expecting to see Tom healing his broken arm, ready to get toyed with some more. Instead he saw Tom pointing a little cylinder at him.

The shaman frowned for an instant before alarm crossed his expression and he began to dash forward. He ran right into a cloud of pain.

“What – Ah-“ Vol gasped with pain, then tried to scream as he inhaled the aerosolized capsaicin. That devolved into miserable, hacking coughs followed by wheezing breaths as his throat shut down while Vol tried to crawl away from the cloud.

Tom emptied the cannister, then tossed it aside before backed away from the orangish red cloud, walking toward the revolver. The spectators on the other side of the arena were violently coughing and sneezing as the highly pressurized spray reached them as well.

According to Nema, Vol could keep his body reinforcement going for a good couple minutes straight, so Tom had to rope-a-dope the shaman for a while before he went for the bear spray.

Even suffering like he was, if Vol got his hands on Tom, he could snap him like a twig.

Now the shaman was presumably burning through the last of his well to try and make the pain go away, wheezing as he desperately tried to breathe through closed airways.

Tom picked up the guan and went to stand a safe distance away from Vol, leveling the gun at the man writhing in pain.

“You done?” Tom asked. “This can’t end until you give up.”

Vol blearily looked at him through the haze of tears, recognizing the gun. He snarled victoriously at Tom, and wheezed:

“Five shots. Nema –“

“Nema lied,” Tom said, aiming low and squeezing the trigger.

BOOM!

Now the gun was dry. Tom dropped it and left Vol where he was, curled around his frappe’d gonads. There hadn’t been enough left in Vol’s well to stop a bullet to the testicles. Not nearly enough.

“Is there a someone who can decide the fight?” Tom asked. “I’m pretty sure this is over. Chief?”

The chief was pale, looking at Tom with barely restrained anger.

Tom cocked his head, meeting the man’s gaze.

“You would think if he was actually your child, he would be smarter.” Tom said, loud enough for Vol to hear him.

“I made a promise to his mother,” The chief said, his tone low. “It does not matter if I sired him.”

“I didn’t make any promise. besides, it seemed like he was actively trying to throw that match. I was absolutely sure he would just break my neck and be done with it.”

Tom glanced over to Nema. “He must have actually been trying to stick to the bargain. Amazing.”

“He tried to ask for one of my world-famous blowjobs,” Nema said, her face crinkling and tongue sticking out in the universal sign of disgust. “I managed to barter him down to a handy to go easy on you.”

Tom chuckled out loud. “Man, he threw the fight for a hand job? Must have been sad, desperate and lonely. What a fucking tool.”

Vol let out a shrill shriek and pushed himself to his feet, staggering toward Tom blindly, with his fingers splayed out like claws.

“Nema,” Tom said, holding out his hand. The little woman handed him the sword.

Tom held it in front of him.

Vol, mad with – justifiable – rage and half blind from capsaicin, missed the sword between the two of them, impaling himself up to the hilt. The Shaman’s bloodshot eyes went wide, and he glanced down at the sword transfixing his sternum. He tried to pry it out, only butchering his hands as he did.

“Oh, no, it looks like you had an accident,” Tom murmured, putting every ounce of false sincerity he could into it. “Lemme help.” Tom shoved Vol off the blade with his foot, making the asshole topple backwards into a pool of his own blood.

Gotta be meaner than the other guy. If there was one lesson he’d take to heart from this, that would be it.

I feel like I’m gonna throw up. Tom thought as he stared at Vol slowly dying.

“Hey!” Nema’s shout caught Tom’s attention, and a moment later, the chief ran past Tom, shoving him out of the way and pressing the healing crypt to Vol’s chest.

There was an impact of invisible energy as the crypt discharged into Vol, fixing the Shaman up in a matter of seconds.

“The fight is not over. Vol has not admitted defeat.” The chief said with a sigh, stepping away from Vol, who continued to wheeze for air. Magic healing doesn’t remove pre-existing capsaicin.

The bubbling anger that Tom had been holding back finally exploded out.

“No! Fuck that! Fuck you! Fuck this WHOOOLE village! You can’t have my stuff. I’m banishing myself, and I’m taking my shit, my gun, my skeleton, my truck, and my woman with me. Just try and fucking stop me!”

Tom’s tirade was in English, but he got the feeling they understood.

Tom pried the healing crypt out of the chief’s hands, grabbed the revolver and the tote with all his gear, dragging it behind him as he stormed off, the crowd parting around him.

He heard the Chief’s voice fading behind him.

“Ah, as you can see, Tom has forfeit, and so…”

Tom walked across the village to the outskirts, where the rusty mass of truck rested. He threw his tote of supplies in the crowded bed before heading for the cab. Mr. Fluffybottom had nearly filled it with all of Nema’s possessions during the fight.

Plan B: Take the money and run.

Tom hopped into the re-upholstered seat just as Nema was clicking her seatbelt closed. Suzie was between them and Mr. Fluffybottom clambered into the bed, making himself as compact as he could.

The two of them drove until it was dark outside, then kept going for several hours, making damn sure nobody was going to catch up in a single night.

Tom didn’t stop until the truck sputtered out of gas, stranding them in the middle of the wilderness with nothing but a quart of gasoline in the back.

The long drive had altered their surroundings. Trees had been cropping up more and more often, and the ground had been getting steadily less baked. Two hundred miles later, when the truck finally died, they decided to sleep inside the truck for safety.

Well, I guess I finally got away from village life, Tom thought, glancing over at his ‘souvenier’.

Nema was seemingly even happier than he was to be away from those people, sleeping peacefully in the bench seat beside him, a small smile creeping onto her face as she dreamed about something good.

Tom closed his eyes and let himself sleep. He had to pull a bullet and the can of bear spray out of the past with the remaining soul pulses in the healing crypt.

Those could be useful in the future.

***AWAKE***

When Tom opened his eyes again, the bear spray and the single .44 cartridge tumbling off his chest, but he didn’t stop them. He thought he was having an honest-to-god nightmare.

Outside the truck, a village had sprung up, complete with Vith smiling and waving at him.