RFC-Mini Arc 2: Elven Garde-07 (Patreon)

Resolving himself to properly thank the ingrate later, Callan brought his mind back to fighting. The hold had been painful but he was uninjured. Alec might have pushed his buttons but he had done his job perfectly. It made Callan feel worse about losing his temper, but a petty part pushed the blame onto his teammate for striving so hard to provoke him.

His next opponent jumped into the ring. Callan eyed him. He was on the shorter height with a thin build, no bulk on him at all and narrow shoulders. His features were covered by long, mousy brown hair and he held himself tightly, as if trying to avoid the gazes of the crowd. He didn’t look very intimidating, a fact that made Callan’s nerves spike.

The weak didn’t last long in Elven Garde. This man who didn’t look like he’d escaped puberty was undoubtedly skilled and not being able to gauge his strength made him far more worrisome than the giants about.

Callan raised his hands, eyes flicking over his opponent, looking for any indication of their style. He found nothing. He couldn’t even see the boy’s, as that’s what he looked like, hands as they were almost swallowed in the baggy sleeves of a shirt that had to be at least two sizes too big.

The crowd started to jeer at the two fighters when they remained unmoving. His opponent shuffled his feet but didn’t seem any braver for the insulting encouragement. Callan let out of a huff of air and ran forward. Normally, going for first strike put him at a disadvantage but this was a rare opportunity where he had the advantage in strength. He grinned viciously, fully intending to enjoy the rare occurrence of overpowering an enemy, his fist striking out.

Callan was entirely focused, waiting for the slightest sign of any reaction. When his opponent’s shoulders tensed, he thought he had frozen, not unheard of with those new to Elven Garde.

At the last moment, when Callan was sure he was about to knock the frail-looking boy down, he moved. Faster than Callan had ever seen anyone move before. One moment, Callan was looking at him, and the next, all he could see was the boy’s head as his opponent stepped forward.

He tried to step away, to defend, but the world twirled. His stomach leaped into his chest as the ground was suddenly too close. Then he kept spinning, finding himself staring at the sky before he landed painfully.

Callan let out a soundless scream, his lungs lacking the breath to produce a proper sound. A wave of pain coursed through his body, centered around his abused back but it was quickly overshadowed as a shadow dropped onto his body.

If he could, he would have squealed as a knee was driven into his stomach. Tears pricked his eyes at the intense pain. He was already struggling to catch his breath but it became impossible, his lungs heaving to no effect.

He forgot about his opponent and the fight as he just focused on trying to make his body work. Fear crept in alongside the pain, blossoming into panic. He felt several hands grab him but couldn’t bother to fight, his body reflexively curling in on itself.

And then it was over.

Soothing warmth eased his aches, sweet air filling his lungs. He blinked away the tears to see Kierra smiling over him. “Deep breath now, Atty.”

He obeyed, taking in another lungful of air. It felt so good tears almost pricked his eyes again.

“Good.” She stood, turning away from him. His hand reflexively wanted to grab hold of her but by the time he raised his hand, she was already too far away.

A blonde head interrupted his view of her back. It took a few moments before Callan recognized Lucius. With the man’s frown, a horrible realization dawned on him.

He’d lost.

Callan tried to bolt upright but a strong hand on his shoulder kept him in place. “Easy. Just…take it easy.”

“What…”

“A dark horse. Ah ah. They really got us good.” Lucius ran a hand through his hair, frowning deeply. “They did a good job of hiding that squirt, not that it would be hard. I could pack him away in a saddlebag.”

Callan knocked away Lucius’s hand, ignoring the faint twinges of pain from his abdomen as he stood up. Lucius grabbed him under the arm when he stumbled. Callan hardly noticed. His eyes fixed on the opposite side of the crowd, where Brahim stood with the rest of the Arms.

His opponent stood with them, still in the midst of being congratulated, appearing waifish next to Brahim as the champion mussed their messy head.

“No one’s eager to get into it with the squirt, not confident in getting past him, two more, and Brahim whose had plenty of time to catch his breath. That’s it for tonight.” If a period of five minutes passed without a new challenge, the night would come to an end. He was familiar with the feeling in the air, the crowd quieting to whispered voices as tension bled from the fighters.

“No.” Callan tried to move forward, wanting to enter the ring again but Lucius held him back.

“You’re retired for the night. It’s over.”

“NO!” His outburst drew a few glances from those standing nearby.

Lucius cursed, yanking him backward. “Stop it!” he hissed. “You know what happens to people who break her rules. We lost this time. Hey!” He shook Callan until he looked away from the empty ring. “We lost.”