The Piledriver of Fate (Titan Wars Book 2)

by Samuel Gately

  Kir roared with laughter, and his titans quickly followed when it seemed they had permission to do so. He took a big swig of beer and turned to Owen. “Fuck, Grit, you said this guy was chill. Seems pretty pissy to me. It’s starting to feel like a waste of an evening. There ain’t even any ladies here.”

  Van shot Owen a look, hoping the titan would back him. They were running out of time and he had a job to do.

  Owen leaned forward and smoothed his hair back behind his ears. “Van is chill. He hasn’t even called you a little bitch for thinking about sitting on the sidelines for the fight of our lives. He hasn’t called you an old, useless, wrinkly prick who needs to stand up for his home. He hasn’t even told your goons directly to dump this sad fuck sitting here clinging to glories older than I am and get out there and make something of themselves.” He leaned back again and took a long drink. “Seems pretty chill to me.”

  Owen’s words hung in the air for a long moment. Kir looked around at his titans. Van watched him closely. Then Kir chuckled, and all the other titans decided to chuckle too. When they were done, he leaned his head against the back of the chair and blew a kiss at Owen. “I hear you, Grit, you fucking dickhead. Maybe we’ll get there. But for now why don’t you and your friend Van have another beer?” He gestured to another one of the titans sitting on the apron of the nearby ring. “Hey, Titus, show Van where we keep our beer. He might be interested.” Seeing Van grit his teeth, he said, “Relax, general. Go take a look.”

  Van caught Owen’s subtle nod out of the corner of his eye and followed the titan into the back of the gym.

  Titus was solidly built. He had a handsome face with a trim beard and wore black trunks and black boots, geared up as though he’d been fighting earlier in the evening. They passed a large pillar with a painting of Kir on it, arms raised in victory. It seemed to mark the end of the active portion of the gym. The space beyond was packed with crates and broken training equipment. Titus led Van on a path through the boxes, which opened up to an area with several barrels carefully arrayed in a circle with a space at the center. A dim blue glow emanated from the gaps between the barrels. Van realized with a start he could see his breath.

  “It keeps them cold,” Titus said.

  Van looked at the set-up and shrugged. “What keeps them cold?”

  “Great question, general.” Kir’s voice boomed out into the quiet space. He and his entourage had followed them back to the storage area. “Hey, gang, the general wants to see the coldstone. Let’s show it to him. Come on. Get those boxes out of there. Hurry up, now.”

  The Grunt-and-Groan titans leapt into action and began moving boxes from the floor into stacks against the walls. Kir went back to fetch his chair and planted it beyond the pillar separating the front of the gym from the back.

  Titus handed Van a fresh mug, then began hauling the barrels out of their formation towards the wall. As he moved them, Van saw a large stone that rose to about the height of his knee sat in the center. It glowed a faint blue and appeared to be made almost entirely of ice. Thick, iron U-shaped handles, rimmed with frost, jutted out from the stone at several angles. Van could feel the chill emanating from the stone. It rested in a slight groove surrounded by cracked tiles. The floor around the stone was covered in a film of ice. Farther out, the floor was marked with bright dashes of paint and chalked dates and initials.

  Van looked up at Owen, who shrugged. Kir laughed. “Don’t worry, general. We’ll explain everything to you.”

  It took the titans less than a minute to clear the area. The speed and precision of the rearrangement suggested they did this regularly. Kir fell back into an easy banter with Owen, Sevendhi, and the others as Van stared down at the stone and the markings around it, trying to puzzle out the meaning.

  “Figure it out yet?” Kir called out as his titans sloughed the last few boxes out of the way and gathered against the walls.

  Van took a drink and stared down at the stone. “Am I just supposed to pick it up? It can’t be that heavy.” The titans laughed. “What keeps it cold?” Van asked, genuinely curious. He’d never seen anything like this before.

  “An enchantment,” Kir answered. “An expensive-as-fuck enchantment. And that’s not all it does.” He stood and strolled over to Van and stood beside him, looking proudly down on the stone. “My own design. It has a permanent binding spell in place. So when you say it can’t be that heavy that’s why we laugh, general. That’s no regular stone. Try to move it from that spot right there, you’ll find it is plenty heavy. And the farther away you get, the stronger the pull gets. So, sure, you can pick it up. Maybe even move it a foot or two. But then things get very interesting.” He gestured to the painted marks on the floor. Most of the markings were around five feet out from the stone’s resting place. The farthest one was nine or ten feet from the center. “These are the records, the farthest titans have been able to move it from that position. I’ve held the record ten of the last twelve years.”

  Van took another sip and wriggled his toes inside his boots, which were growing cold simply from standing on the chilled, icy floor around the stone. “Meaning you lost it to someone two years ago?”

  Kir raised an eyebrow. “Pretty good at math for a titan. Fucking Panam Manley was here a couple years ago. Drank every ounce of booze in the place, broke the record, then left with my girl, which is something I’d never admit if it had been any other titan.”

  Of course it would have been Panam Manley. “Why is that not a surprise?” Van muttered under his breath.

  “But you don’t have to beat his record, general. I wonder if that will ever be broken. The spell’s been getting stronger over the years. No, I’m just wondering how you’ll fare against a couple of my boys. How ‘bout, oh, let’s say, Titus and Brutalizer? Why don’t we see how you stack up against General Van the Beer Man, who is so eager to enlist us all into his service?”

  Van glared at Kir even as the two titans who had been named shuffled forward. “I don’t have time for this. And I’m not here for a game, Kir. A lot of lives are depending on us.”

  “Then move the stone, general. Beat the best of my titans, and I’ll listen to your offer. I’m not saying I’ll agree. Just that I’ll listen.” He walked back past the pillar to his chair and sat down. “You each get three tries. Farthest mark wins. We’ll even let you go last, general, so you can see how it’s done.” Kir pulled his robe closed against the chill of the stone and sipped his beer.

  Van had expected words were not going to work here. He’d thought he’d have to climb into the ring with one of Kir’s fighters. Instead it was a trial of strength. One he’d probably lose, badly. He strolled over to Owen as Brutalizer and Titus engaged in a brief argument about who had to go first. “Any advice, coach?” Van asked Owen out of the side of his mouth.

  Owen shrugged as he bent down to refill his beer. When he straightened again with his full mug, he said, “Watch what they do. Then do it better.”

  Chapter 18.

  Titus drew the short straw and had to go first. He circled the coldstone, staring it down like it was an opponent in the ring. There was respect in his steely gaze. Maybe a touch of fear as well. The gym went quiet. Van sipped his beer and watched.

  Finally, Titus reached down and folded his strong hands around one of the frost-rimmed iron handles. He carefully planted his feet wide on the slick floor around the stone, let out an explosive breath, and jerked the stone up to chest level. He began sliding his feet forward, dropped into a crouch, and began driving the stone outwards towards the marks on the floor. On his second step, his feet slid out from under him. He crashed to the floor and the stone shot ahead of him just a few inches, then it started sliding back to its spot, scraping the icy floor, pushing Titus to the side, and at last, thudding back into place.

  The titans roared with laughter. Titus swore and glared at the stone, then clambered to his feet. The skin on his elbows was torn. Frost covered his hands and beard. He spat on the floor and collected
his beer from one of the other titans, ignoring their jibes. Van estimated he’d moved the thing only about three feet. No one even bothered marking the effort.

  Brutalizer approached with more swagger. He was bigger, a blocky build with a flattop haircut and a tightly trimmed beard. His massive shoulders punched forward as he walked. He squared up to the coldstone like it was an old friend and shot Van a smirk.

  When he moved, he was faster and more deliberate than Titus. He heaved the stone up with one hand just above his waist, twisted it onto his massive forearms, ignoring the handles digging into his skin, and started taking short little steps across the icy floor. His face reddened and he huffed heavy breaths as he waddled ahead. When he got about five feet out, the other titans began to cheer for him. But then he seemed to hit a wall. The veins in his arms were popping. He clenched his teeth, eyes wide, but he couldn’t move forward. Finally, he bellowed, set the stone down on the icy floor, and gave it a final push. Then he dove aside as it slid back to its resting place with a crash. Brutalizer rolled onto his back, shook the frost off his arms, and roared at the ceiling. Another titan wearing a purple boa crept in to mark his distance. Brutalizer had made it close to six feet out, an excellent haul compared to the other markings on the ground.

  “You see that?” Brutalizer shouted once he’d caught his breath. “I nearly took that pretty lady home with me.”

  Kir the Attraction bellowed laughter. “Ha! You barely learned her name.”

  Brutalizer shook his head, then jumped to his feet. “You very nearly lost your coldstone there, Kir. Next turn I’ll walk right out the door with her. Warm her up in my bed tonight.” The other titans clapped him on his back as he collected his drink. Then he leaned against the wall and raised an eyebrow at Van. “Your turn, general,” he called out mockingly.

  Van sighed and handed Owen his beer. He circled the stone, getting used to the slippery footing. There didn’t seem to be any perfect method to this challenge. He’d just try to learn what he could with his first attempt. Maybe try not to get hurt.

  He slid a hand into the handle—it was shockingly cold—and folded his fingers over it, carefully testing the weight before he committed to a lift. It was heavy, but no heavier than he expected. Maybe a little more than a full beer barrel. And he routinely hauled those around two at a time.

  Van hoisted the stone up and cradled it in his forearms. He immediately felt the painful bite of the frost-covered iron handles on his arms and gut. The stone fought him like a living thing—it was more than just heavy. It wanted to get back to its resting place. It pulled like a giant magnet. He took a step and felt the force increase. Another step, it fought him even harder. As Van lifted his boot for his third step, his other foot slid out from under him, and he tumbled to the floor. The stone spun sideways from his hands, rolled back, and crashed into his side as it scraped its way home.

  As Van stared forlornly at the stone, the laughter of the titans fell over him. He’d done even worse than Titus. The stone looked happy in its resting place, pulsing blue, as though it was also laughing at Van. Van stood and shook his head, but he couldn’t help chuckling when he saw Owen fighting a smile. He walked back to his corner, and Owen handed him his beer. No one bothered to mark his attempt.

  Owen faked a serious expression. “What have we learned?”

  “Fuck you. I’ll get it next time.” Van knew this was serious stuff, even if it was framed as a game. But he was actually having fun, and was eager to see what Titus and Brutalizer did next. He took a big swig of beer.

  Titus’s next turn wasn’t much better. He tried a different approach. With his back to Kir and the others, he splayed his feet wide, planted them carefully, then leaned forward and pulled the stone to him. He leaned back until he was on the floor and sort of wiggled backwards, using his shoulders and feet to fight for a few feet. The stone scraped along the icy floor. As its pull grew stronger, however, he scrambled to find enough leverage and finally stalled. He lay there straining and finally moved his legs out of the way, uttered a string of profanities, and released it. They measured to the farthest point the stone had moved, which wasn’t far.

  Brutalizer’s second try went much like his first, though he didn’t get quite as far, maybe worn down from the monster first effort. He gave a pointed glance down at that marking as he stepped aside for Van.

  Van wasn’t sure he was learning anything new at this point. The stone was deceptively heavy and leverage was close to impossible on the sheet of ice. On his second go, he got the stone up into a cradle again, this time a little higher. He could feel its chill on his face as he carefully began a slow walk. He took more time with his feet placement and shorter steps. But the weight of the stone began wearing on him quickly. His energy was sapping, his hands weakening. His arms felt leaden and dead, and the painful pull of the stone was growing. He tightened every muscle, summoned all his strength, and pushed forward another step. Then the stone’s pull was too much, nothing he could do to stop it. He swore, dropped the stone, and moved out of the way as it shot back.

  The other titans held their laughter, but they smirked and glanced at Kir the Attraction. Kir pretended to not be watching as Van looked his way. Van had been well short of Brutalizer’s best. Only one chance left. And he was exhausted.

  Owen shook his head. “You ready to wake up, yet?” he muttered quietly as he handed Van his beer.

  Van took a slug of his beer, wondering if Kir would listen to him even if he failed. Probably not, not if Van didn’t at least make it competitive. Kir didn’t want to fight the OverLord. No one did. Van had to do better. He glared at the stone, wishing he had some way of snapping its cursed enchantment.

  Half the titans weren’t even watching Titus approach the stone for his third and final try. Titus didn’t seem pleased with the dismissal—a scowl crossed his face. He barely hesitated before attacking the stone. He jerked it up, pulled it towards him hard, and tugged the thing along violently, moving his feet just a few inches at a time. As the stone was nearing about five feet out, his shoulder popped out of joint. He was just able to free his hand before the stone crashed back home. He stood cursing and grimacing in pain, his limp arm hanging by his side. Then he spat on the floor and strode off the ice. A few titans followed him, faces grim. They all went just out of sight, then Titus screamed as the other titans popped his shoulder back in its socket.

  The Brutalizer readied himself for his final go. He rolled his shoulders, standing with his legs apart over the stone. “Kir,” he called out, “what’s your record on this?”

  Kir chuckled. “You know it perfectly well. Marked right on the damn floor.”

  “I’m gonna beat it.” He looked at Van. “Not much other competition here. Need something to keep me motivated.”

  Brutalizer forced the stone up into a cradle again and slid his feet carefully past the icy section of the floor. Then he set it down and began pushing it. He was straining but still going when he found firmer footing. He began to lean into the stone, driving it forward. He passed the limit of his prior attempt, still going strong. His shoulders trembled, dripping with sweat; veins bulged in his forehead. He gave a final push, extending his arms all the way out. He looked down as the stone crossed the line marking Kir the Attraction’s best, winked at the titan, and disentangled himself, nearly losing several fingers in the process. He dove out of the way as the stone crashed back home.

  The Grunt-and-Groan titans cheered as Brutalizer raised his tired arms over his head in victory. He’d made it nearly eight feet, almost to Panam Manley’s record. As the effort was marked and dated, Brutalizer lowered his arms and turned to Van. “You still in this, general? You could just quit now.”

  The Grunt-and-Groan had come to life. The titans taunted and hooted at Van as he approached the coldstone. He rubbed his tired hands together and stood over it. It was time for him to get serious. He’d beaten the Headlock. And this was far more important.

  Taking his time and being car
eful moving past the icy section would wear him down, but that’s what he’d have to do. If he slipped and fell, he lost. They all lost. Van lifted the stone and began the slow and careful haul.

  His arms were trembling by the time he hefted the stone clear of the ice. He was drained, exhausted, ready to drop it. Ready to give up. He took another step. The titans had laughed before. When he failed, they would laugh again. Just like the OverLord would laugh at the meager defenses Van had organized. The crowd would laugh. Then they would see Bearhugger slit the first throat, Jaygan feed his first victim to his dragon. The unstoppable will of the OverLord looming behind an army bent on erasing all life. They’d stop laughing. Then they would all die. Van took another step.

  The weight of the stone was unbearable; its pull was dragging him down, dragging him back. He locked his hands into two of the handles, hoisted the stone higher on his chest, turned and let the stone pull him towards the center for about a second. Then, his massive hands locked into place, he began stepping back from the hole in the floor, hauling the stone with everything he had. It stretched out horizontally from his chest. Van backed up a step, then another and another. A handle snapped, and the iron twisted free of the stone. He held his grip with one hand and slid a foot or so inwards, nearly losing control of the stone. He wrapped his loose arm around the stone, and stepped back again and again.

  Van’s aching hands throbbed in pain where they weren’t frozen. He wanted to let go. He twisted and placed the crushing weight of the stone onto his hip. He carried it like a barrel, ignoring the icy burn seeping through his uniform. He’d hauled barrels before. Through long and lonely days, thousands and thousands of loads.