by Jack Hammond
Chris locked his sights on Wesley; he could see him just standing there. He'd made no attempt to capitalise, Chris was left to steady the ship, and refocus after reeling from his attack. He wasn’t sure what he had hit him with, but it hurt. The granite spear had dematerialized into the ether before Chris had seen it.
“Lucky strike, kid.” Chris’ hooded figure cackled.
Wesley smiled.
Chris stamped the scythe into the ground; the sound of the audience taking a sudden intake of air was eerie. Wesley could hear them long before they appeared, the clanking of metal against metal. The supernatural chains broke through the sand, each one wrapping itself around the Gladiator’s arms and legs. More and more ethereal bonds tightened their grip upon Wesley as Chris banged the scythe into the sand.
“Why isn’t he fighting back?” Sadie shouted. “Fight Wes, damn it! Fight!”
“He must have a plan. He had him on the ropes.” Alwin remarked.
“He’s done for now.” Darren added forlornly.
“Oh shut up!” Sadie snapped tiring of his negative comments.
Alwin grinned. He had seen this coming, the fall out was not far away.
The Reaper straightened up, making his way towards his subjugated opponent. “You should have finished the job.” He rasped beneath the hood. “Like your friends, you're at my mercy.”
“I’m at your mercy, really?” Wes replied.
“I think you should beg.”
“Good luck with that.”
The crowd was hissing, the previous night’s escapade seemed to be nothing compared with what was in store tonight.
“Burn!” he shrieked, grinding the scythe into the sand.
A piercing white flame engulfed Wesley, its intensity equal to that of his hammer. The crowd's whispers rippled through the tiers, the Reaper’s head whipped from one side to the other as he tried to hear what was being said. A stunned silence followed as Wesley began to laugh.
“Really? That’s what you’ve got? Fire?” he laughed louder and louder. “Fire. You’re actually using flames on me?”
Chris didn’t know how to react. For the first time he was lost.
“How do you burn a flame?” Wesley asked. “I’ll show you what fire is, shall I?” Wesley drew in the Reaper’s flame, combining it with the sensation of heat burning at his very core. The two energy sources reached their height of power and with an animalistic roar, Wesley discharged a ring of pulsating flame. It shattered the shackles that bound him and the blazing wave brushed aside the Reaper. Chris was pushed to the outer edges of the golden sand.
The colosseum reformed, reshaping itself after the inferno had scorched it with such blistering heat. Wesley glanced back at the door. He smiled at the astounded looks on Sadie and Alwin’s face, before returning to his clash, Chris was still down. The surge of power was too much for the lad, Wesley assumed.
“Come on Chris! You’re not done already are you?” Wesley shouted. “They came to see a clash.”
Chris reached out for his scythe, pulling it in. He used it as a crutch to help himself up.
“Want me to give you a few minutes?” Wes enquired.
The Reaper remained silent, not for the fact he had nothing to say, but due to the fact he couldn’t manage it.
“I don’t know, you were all ‘burn!’ a minute ago.”
The crowd tittered before full blown laughter erupted at Chris Grim’s expense.
The laughter fuelled him; the Angel of Death poised himself, bringing the scythe across his body. A green aura encompassed the blade, it wasn’t blinding, but it had power there.
“That’s it… you’re supposed to be the boss!” Wesley taunted. The pair rushed towards one another. The scythe clashed against the steel buckler, Chris almost overreaching as he put everything into the strike. Wes spun off and repositioned himself as the Reaper adjusted his follow up swing. This time Wesley twisted the shield allowing the scythe inside his guard, gripping the blade fearlessly, he flicked his wrist locking the weapon in place with the buckler.
Chris yanked back on the handle, the buckler refused to relent. He caught sight of Wesley smiling, then he saw the flaming hammer again. Wes brought it down with force; his target was the middle of the scythe. A crack followed by a flash of light, the Reaper’s weapon was shattered and Chris stood dumbfounded and unarmed.
“Ooop’s!” Wes jested as he backhanded Chris with a thwack.
The Angel of Death thumped against the colosseum rock again, to a chorus of cheers from around the stands.
Darren turned away and headed out of the fighter’s pit, Alwin smirked. He wanted to say I told you so so bad it actually hurt. Who said he didn’t have restraint?
“He’s unbelievable.” Sadie gushed.
“Told you, he's the one.”
“The one?”
“Yeah, the one to challenge the shadows.”
“I have to admit, you were right. We were wrong, weren’t we?” Sadie said turning to the empty space that Darren had only moments ago vacated.
“Oh, has Darren gone?” Alwin said trying to act surprised.
“You hurt a couple of my friends.” Wesley said. “You were rather excessive.”
“Sorry.” Chris replied, his voice no longer rasping under the hood.
“Have you nothing left?” he asked. “No fight left in that creation of yours?”
“No, I’m done.”
“If you were done I’d have shattered that Mani of yours. You must have something left.”
The Reaper climbed to his feet. “You beat me. Okay? You won.”
“No clever replies now? No smart comments?”
“I said I’m sorry.”
“And I think you have more, I think you have more fight in you.” Wesley looked to the tiers and rows of people. “Do you think he has more?!” he called out.
“YES!” the stands replied in unison.
“You have to give them a fight or I may have to toy with you. That's how you play right?”
Chris Grim clenched his long bony fingers beneath his black robes; he had some power left in reserve. But if he depleted that, he knew he would be away from the arena a long time while he replenished it. “I’m done, I’m finished.” Chris reiterated.
“Pity, I expected a challenge from you.” Wesley dropped his arms by his side, Chris’ admission causing him to relax.
Grim drew on his reserves charging his manifestation like a battery. The instant it peaked Chris drew back his hood and let fly with his burning skull.
The crowd gasped again, Wesley’s reactions were more than up to the task. He deflected the beam of energy with his buckler and pushed into the unrelenting stream. With each push forward, Wesley could feel the Grim Reaper’s power lessen. He moved closer and was almost on top of him when the energy beam finally faltered. The hammer took hold for the first time, its explosive aura flashed across the Reaper’s face as the war hammer connected with the exposed skull. A crack, then a shatter as Chris’ Angel of Death creation was destroyed. The young boy toppled across the sand, the impact so strong the minute his momentum ceased he vanished from the sand.
Applause erupted from every side, the noise level thundered above and below him, raising his hammer into the air Wesley announced his arrival to the six shadows, by dispatching one of the colosseum’s best, effortlessly. He took his time as he walked across the sand; the power he was experiencing was like nothing before. At first the sensation had rendered him a wreck, but he soon acclimatised and then from that moment he made it his own. At one point the power within him was so consuming, if he had not expelled some, he feared being torn apart. But even so he loved it. He wanted this feeling all the time.
The fighters pit no longer had the sombre atmosphere Wesley had left behind, the bleak, dull, grey mood had been swept away like his opponent. A bright warm, far more jovial ambience greeted him as he passed over the threshold. The cauldrons burned brighter, the space seemed bigger, less constricting and people we
lcomed him back like a relative who had been away too long. Wes’ gaze quickly fell upon Sadie, the furore of the situation not blinding him to the fact Darren was not by her side.
“I’m sorry I didn’t believe in you.” She said, her words formal but heartfelt.
“And I’m sorry I was such a tool.” Wesley held out his hand. “Friends?”
Sadie brushed a loose cluster of hair behind her ear, with a smile she took his hand.
“It was the song wasn’t it?” Alwin remarked.
“Song?” Sadie asked intrigued.
“Eye of the tiger.” Wes confirmed seriously. “I think it was the defining difference.” He smirked.
“Eye of the tiger, baby!” Alwin continued. “Daz would have stayed to congratulate you, but he left. Most likely coursework that needed his urgent attention.”
The room was dark; it was still late night or early morning. The shadows on the back wall danced as the silhouettes of trees outside fought against the high winds. Patrick sat up in bed, the quilt cover falling around his waist, his eyes feverishly shining with delight. His mind furiously trying to comprehend what he had just witnessed, the sheer wonderment would surely keep him awake until morning. He plucked the golden pendant from beneath his pillow and held it in both hands. He stared hypnotically at it, what was this? How had it taken the dream world and formed a bond with reality?
He ran a finger around the outline of the symbol, feeling the indentations, the smooth metallic gold combining with the rough sharpness of the scored lines. This was a talisman, an opening to another world, a realm beyond ours. Patrick had spent many a night wishing he could escape this world, now, thanks to a chance encounter with a stranger it had actually happened. The young boy knew what he had to do, he had to take part. He needed to fight, that place would give him something this reality could not. A chance to be someone else.
Patrick slipped the pendant back under his pillow and settled down, knowing he wouldn’t sleep, he decided to create his new life. Tomorrow he would ask Wesley for his help. He was obviously a veteran of the realm, his battle with Death, a spectacle he had only ever witnessed on the silver screen. The powerful imagery of the dragon taking hold of the Grim Reaper would keep him entertained for months.
The morning came quickly, forcing itself pleasantly on Wesley. He was wide awake, his entire being bursting with a weird energy. He felt like himself, only more, he couldn’t explain how, but he had a clearer sense of everything. Possibly it had bled over from his clash in the Colosseum, the exuberance; tingling pulses of power that bristled just under the skin were still there.
Wesley looked into the mirror and expected to see a visible change. Maybe a spurt in height, a sudden increase in muscle, but he hadn’t. He was not that disappointed, the feeling he had was enough. He turned to his sketch pad, running his finger down the drawing; Wesley rubbed at the charcoal smudge with his thumb. This is real, he said to himself. Wes cast a glance at his alarm clock and realised he needed to get a move on. He was due in school soon and he wanted to see how Alwin, Sadie and especially Darren would treat him today.
Even the bag slung over Wesley’s shoulder seemed lighter today. The leather strap not digging into his skin as usual, he wondered if he had removed some papers or text books but couldn’t recall. The fresh morning air filled his lungs and that seemed different, he imagined this was what the fresh country air people harped on about was like.
“Wesley!” a voice barked loudly from behind. “Wesley!” it continued to draw closer, less of a bark now and more a yap.
He looked back and saw Patrick Pullman galloping towards him. The backpack peeked over each shoulder as he swung his arms furiously trying to catch up to him.
“Patrick?” he mumbled to himself. They had never spoken before; in fact he was surprised Patrick knew his name.
The last few steps Patrick’s feet slapped against the tarmac loudly as he came to a halt. He panted like a little dog, who'd been chasing cars up and down the street in a mad effort to catch one. Patrick wasn’t as downtrodden looking today, Wesley noticed. He was actually smiling, he had never seen that.
“Wesley.” He managed to get out between gasping breaths.
“What?” Wesley’s surprise and confusion summed up in his tone.
“You’re amazing!”
“What?” Now it was purely confusion.
“Last night, I saw you fight.” Patrick beamed. “You were amazing!”
“You were in the Colosseum?”
“Is that what you call it?” his eyes widened. “Wow.” Then he shook it off. “You were so good, I couldn’t believe it was you. I asked some people there, and they said you were unbeaten. I was like, I know him he’s at my school!” Patrick rushed his words at what seemed like a million miles an hour. All Wesley could think was, how? How had the Colosseum seen fit to bring in Patrick, but leave out Luke?
“I was hoping you could give me some pointers, you know seeing as you’re so amazing.” Patrick continued.
Wesley’s head dropped. He couldn’t understand why Patrick, the school punch bag had managed to be chosen. He had stopped listening to his rambling voice.
“Well?” he asked. “Wes, can you?”
“Can I what?”
“Give me some help, I was thinking of being an archer. You know Nottingham, Robin Hood.” He proudly said.
“I can’t, I don’t know anything.”
“You do, you dominated that Grim Reaper.” He disagreed. “Any help would be great.” He pleaded.
“I’ve only fought three times.” Wes said. Why had they chosen Patrick Pullman? “Look, Patrick can we do this later?”
“Oh, okay.” He replied disappointedly.
"I’ve got some stuff to..." he searched for an excuse, he didn’t want this conversation.
“Yeah, sure.” Patrick said his beaming smile now a despondent frown. “Later.”
Sadie stood alone, a long black winter coat wrapped around her. Strands of brown hair flowed out from beneath the woollen pink hat, the matching gloves clenched tightly by her sides. The corners of her mouth curled upwards as she caught sight of Wesley walking through the school gates. With a quizzing glance she wondered why he seemed so melancholy, she had expected him to cartwheel through the gates. Could he even cartwheel? She pondered as she moved toward him.
“Why so glum?” she said only a few steps away.
“Patrick, he’s there too.” He began.
“Patrick?”
“Yeah, Patrick Pullman is in the Colosseum. How is that possible?”
“I don’t understand?”
“How did he get in?” Wesley said clearly annoyed.
“Same as anyone who is chosen.”
“Why would they choose him though?”
Sadie wasn’t sure where he was leading with this, but she had to answer him honestly. “Why choose me? You? Anyone?”
“I don’t know, but… Patrick?” he screwed his face up. “That’s not right.”
“It’s your friend Luke isn’t it.” It quickly dawned on her, maybe it was the excitement last night that had made her mind sluggish today.
“He’d be great in there!” he said admiringly.
“It’s not for us to choose.” She declared. “I don’t know how selection works, but who are we to say Patrick doesn’t deserve to be there?”
“Patrick, we’re talking about Patrick Pullman.”
“So?” Sadie replied. “You’re not exactly Mr Popularity at this school and look what you’ve achieved on the sand?”
Wesley didn’t like it, but he had to agree she had a point. “Yeah, you’re not wrong.” He conceded. “Just…” his words drifted away from him.
The two of them walked side by side toward the form rooms. “You were brilliant last night.” Sadie said gleefully. “I don’t know how you did it, but whoa!”
“I get this power from somewhere.” He admitted. “I don’t know where it comes from when I step out there it likes someone flips a sw
itch and the power I need is just available.”
“Serious?”
“Yes, last night I almost keeled over from it, it just kept coming.”
“You did go funny at the start.” She clarified.
“It was then, I just couldn’t control it. After a few seconds I felt better, then I was invincible.”
Sadie looked at him, he was telling the truth. Even though she had tasted power like never before within the stone walls, she knew it was nowhere near the levels he had reached. “Wesley, I think it must be for a reason.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know, but what Alwin said about you being a perfect contender to challenge the shadows is right. Maybe that’s your calling, to become a shadow, a clash titan.”
“I don’t want to be one of them, but I know deep down I want to fight them.” He said honestly, before adding. “When I’m ready of course.”
Patrick was waiting by the school gates, he stood quite close to the school teacher ushering the kids onto the awaiting buses to take them home. His eyes were wide behind the thick lenses of his glasses, made larger by the prescription strength. He scanned the lines of children flooding through the gates, looking for Wesley like a needle in a haystack. Patrick spotted him and glanced around to make sure he had a clear path to him. Patrick didn't wish to run into any bullies. He had taken a position up by Mr Larkin deliberately to discourage any attempts at terrorizing him.
Patrick fought against the current, weaving through the stream of students toward Wesley. He reached Wes and clutched his sleeve. “Wesley!” he said, making him jump.
“What do you want?” he pulled back.
“You said about helping me tonight, some pointers?”
“I’ve got to get home, sorry.” Wesley said making his excuses.
“Wait, why won’t you help me?” his voice breaking as Wesley disregarded him.
“I will.” He lied. “Come to me tonight, in the pit. We can talk then.”