No Flesh Shall Be Spared

by Carnell, Thom

  He wanted fury and ferocity from her.

  He wanted passion.

  He wanted contact.

  "Look, Darlin’…" he said between breaths, "how much of this slap fighting you plan on doing here today? If I’d wanted a massage, I’d go get one."

  A smile spread across her face and her eyes seemed to brighten up.

  "Oh, you want some of this?"

  Cleese was just about to say just how much he wanted all of it, when he saw her back foot dig into the mat. Planting the rear foot like that usually meant your opponent was planning something; usually something big. He lifted his right foot and, just as he was starting to take a step back, two sharp, quick open-handed slaps lashed out and struck his cheek.

  He had to admit it, she was fast.

  "Tag, Darlin’," he heard her say and then cock her head and laugh, "you are It!"

  Cleese touched the side of his face and the skin burned hot beneath his fingers. Two quick, shuffling steps forward and he was on her. A left hook, a right, then a quick uppercut later and he’d already let his mind move on to picking up the pieces of what was left of her. The problem was… the punches never landed. When his loosely clenched hands arrived at their intended destination, Chikara simply wasn’t there. The bad news was that his momentum and committal to the attack had over-extended him. He felt a gentle—almost loving—push at the small of his back and then he was toppling over. The force of his own weight carried him down and to his knees.

  Stupid.

  ~ * ~

  Cleese’s body fell past Chikara as soon as she stepped under and to the side of his anticipated combination. The push on the back was done not for any effect other than to let him know that she was there; to know it and to also know that she could have done a lot more damage than just give him a simple push. He may have had strength and size on her, but that didn’t always win the ball game. As she saw the all too familiar look of exasperated indignance appear on his face, she almost had to laugh.

  Men…

  With an annoyed woof, Cleese fell onto all fours, his head hanging down.

  "What is the matter, Tough Guy?" she said giggling. "You need to take a break already?"

  ~ * ~

  Cleese smiled to himself and looked down at the mat. He felt like an asshole after all that mental pontificating to have made such a rookie move. He slowly climbed back to his feet and turned back toward her, his face now a slightly deeper shade of red than before.

  "Careful…" she said and she wagged a castigatory finger at him, "you do not want to let emotion cloud your thinking, now do you… Darlin’?"

  Cleese grinned and took several abrupt shuffling steps forward. He threw a punch high, aimed just above her head, and then quickly went to grab her arms. His blood was getting hot now and, even though he was beginning to have feelings for this woman, he was not about to let her—or anyone else—get the best of him in a fistfight.

  As he bore down on her, she firmly stood her ground. At the last moment, he noticed her stance change ever so slightly as she braced for impact. His thick arms came toward her and a beatific smile lit up her features. It was not unlike the look martyrs got on their faces just before they died. It was a look of utter peace and complete contentment.

  Of course, it was all orchestrated bullshit.

  As his arms again closed on thin air, he heard her voice speak from over his shoulder, "Our flow cannot become disrupted by our feelings. We must stand to one side of our emotions: anger, fear, hate, wrath… Emotions can only cloud the clarity of our thinking."

  Cleese stumbled to a stop and spun around. He shook his head and quietly chuckled.

  "You sure do talk a lot. You sure you weren’t a teacher in another life?"

  A forlorn look momentarily passed like a shadow over her face and then her features reset into a firm resolve.

  "We must rely on our training," she continued matter of factly. "We must stick to our plan."

  Cleese sighed and decided it was about time to cut the chivalry and passive courting. It was time to remind this fighter of the physics of their relationship. He lunged forward and, as expected, she glided to one side. As he reached where she’d been standing, he pivoted on one foot and leaned into her. He felt his back bump against her chest. His heart fluttered just a bit when the soft point of her breasts came in contact with the meat of his back.

  "The problem with sticking to any plan is…" he said and quickly threw his right elbow back and then the left. The blows, while light and without much force, rocked her head to and fro and still succeeded in scrambling her attention. He bent at the waist and, reaching between his legs, grabbed both of her ankles. Then, by simply standing up, her feet came up and off the ground. Once her stability was compromised, the rest of her body dropped to the mat with a slap that echoed through the Training Hall. Now that she was on the ground, Cleese simply dropped to his knees, sprawled back, and trapped her torso to the mat with his body weight. With his bulk covering her, she was more or less pinned. Her arms and legs thrashed wildly beneath him, but it was clear to them both that she wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. Lying across her, he felt her breath on his neck as she panted near his ear. Her turned his head and looked into her now very pissed off eyes.

  "…that sometimes Life doesn’t give a shit about your plan."

  Beneath him, he felt her wriggle and attempt to throw him off.

  "What was it Woody Allen once said, ‘If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans’?"

  "Maybe it’s you who should’ve been a teacher," she groaned, crushed under his mass.

  "I actually thought about that…" he said and now it was his turn to sound wistful, "once upon a time."

  "Ok… point made," she grunted. "Now, d’ya mind getting the hell off of me?"

  Cleese stretched and put his hands behind his head like a man relaxing in a hammock. He then wriggled his body back and forth, settling in and pressing his weight down even further. He heard her moan and then give up a strangled giggle.

  "No, seriously…" she said still laughing. "Get off me. You weigh a ton."

  Figuring she’d had enough, Cleese rolled over and onto the mat smiling.

  Once she’d gotten her breath back, Chikara slowly got to her feet.

  "Jesus, I think you broke one of my ribs," she gasped, holding her side.

  "Ok, Smartass, I’m not that heavy." He gently pushed her and she took two stumbling steps away.

  "The hell you’re not."

  After a brief moment of rest, it was time to get back to business. They both stood to their full height and again squared off with one another. Chikara fell into her relaxed stance, legs slightly bent, arms hanging loosely at her side; an old school Aikido stance. Cleese came up onto his toes, chin tucked, with his hands open and in front of him; in a bastardized street fighter-meets-Muay Thai form.

  "Ok," Chikara continued, looking relaxed, "your point aside, I still say that proper training can and will counter any anomaly."

  She tossed a sharp left jab followed by a quick cutting oblique kick toward his inner thigh—both he expertly batted aside.

  "Look…" he said as he returned to his stance, "any training that is too structured, by definition, doesn’t leave room for variation." His hands dropped from his en garde position and his attention became fixed on his explanation. "Bruce Lee said, ‘All fixed set patterns are incapable of adaptability or pliability. The truth is outside of all fixed patterns’ and he was right. A fighter needs to adapt to the fight and not expect the fight to adapt to him…" He bowed slightly, "…or her."

  She dutifully bowed back.

  "You can argue the point all you want," he continued, "but nothing’s going to change what is."

  Seeing Cleese caught up in his thought process, Chikara came on strong. Three quick steps and she was within arm’s reach of him. A flurry of left jabs and right crosses followed, some of which landed, but most didn’t.

  Cleese stumbled back to avoid the ons
laught then planted his foot and, redirecting his energy, surged forward. He rolled with her last strike, turned and spun and ended up standing directly behind Chikara. Almost as an afterthought, he wrapped his arms around her at her waist, trapping her limbs against her sides. Bending back, he lifted her off her feet. He thought briefly about slamming her body to the mat, but decided against it as he knew it would undoubtedly hurt her; maybe even break one of her ribs for real.

  She wriggled and thrashed in his arms; her legs kicking futilely. Holding her this close, he couldn’t help but be aware of the feel of her flesh in his arms. Her skin was smooth and soft, but underneath lay musculature that was firm and supple and very well defined. His face pressed into the base of her neck. His nose was buried in her hair that was damp with the sweat of her exertions. The smell of her was intoxicating; a delicate mix of jasmine and wild honeysuckle.

  It had been a long time since Cleese had smelled anything as amazing as that.

  "See there…!" he said trying to clear his head and calm the stirrings coursing throughout his body. "Despite all your Zen posturing, you have a habit of being so committed to your plan—of slaughtering what’s right in front of you—that you end up leaving your back exposed. You gotta think in three hundred and sixty degrees!"

  He quickly let her go and she dropped back to her feet.

  In a conscious act of pure self-preservation, he took two giant steps back and away from her. As he did so, he could see her deeply thinking about what he’d said. It was pretty obvious it was not the first time she’d heard it. She stood there thinking and for some reason subconsciously rubbed at a spot on her left elbow.

  "Monk recently told me something that has stuck in my head…," he added, driving the point home. "He said, ‘It’s not the one you hear that’ll get you… it’s the one you don’t.’ Become a slave to your plan or to your training and you leave yourself open to becoming a victim to it as well."

  He let her stew on that for a minute and then said, "Again?"

  She nodded and they stood facing one another once more. This time, it was Cleese who threw the first punch. The blow just missed the side of Chikara’s jaw line, but at his arm’s full extension, he flicked the tips of his fingers, snipping the tip of her ear. The snapping sound caused her to flinch, which surprised him. She seemed unflappable, but he could tell that his zeroing in on what she felt was a perilous weakness deeply troubled her. It was almost as if he knew her inside and out even though they’d only been spending time together for a relatively short time.

  Her response to the ear flick was quick, sharp and had none of the self control he’d come to expect. Two quick punches struck him in the chest and hurt. The follow-up uppercut to his solar plexus made those, by comparison, seem like a walk on the beach. The air was kicked from his lungs and he quickly decided that the best move at the moment was to get the hell away from her, for both of their sakes.

  It wouldn’t do for him to get pissed and let fly with anything near his full strength. She could undoubtedly take the force of the punch, but… Again, it was hard to put your best foot forward with a woman after breaking her jaw or cracking her one on the nose.

  As he moved further around her—almost as an afterthought—he abruptly reversed direction. Her confusion by the ploy was obvious. Hastily, she tried to counter with a back fist, but it was sloppy and ineffective. The thing was… that in doing so, she once more left her back open and exposed.

  He wrapped his arms about her and pinned her arms to her side for a second time. He pushed down with most of his weight and felt her legs buckle a bit under the burden. She groaned slightly as she attempted to support his weight. Once more, his face was buried into her hair and he could feel the heaviness of her breasts as they rested on his forearms. This closeness was making it really hard to think.

  "Girl, you did it again!"

  Chikara went tense and he could tell she was pissed; not at him—he was only the catalyst. She was clearly more ticked at herself.

  He backed off of the pressure on her and loosened his arms just a bit. She stomped her foot and turned around in his embrace, facing him.

  "It just pisses me off. Creed used to tell me the same thing back when he was training me. I’ve been working on breaking the habit, but… I can’t seem to help it!"

  "Hey, we all have our shortcomings. I mean, look… I am well aware of the fact that I tend to shirk technique and rely on my power way too much. Nobody’s perfect," he said, rubbing her back with the flat of his hand. "Just don’t go and kill the messenger, ok?"

  "No… no." she said looking up at him. "I appreciate your honesty and your willingness to point it out. Others… would not be so forthcoming."

  Cleese stared down into her eyes and watched her lips as they continued to move. His attention drifted away from what she was saying and settled on the line of her jaw, the arch of her eyebrow, and the gentle bowing of her lip. After a minute, the fact that she’d stopped talking tapped him on his shoulder.

  "What?" she asked, a soft blush reddening her cheeks.

  "Huh?" he said, stupidly.

  "You’re staring."

  "Oh, sorry… It’s just that… You…" and he looked down toward his feet and then slowly back up into her eyes. "You’re… Well… You really are a beautiful woman."

  Chikara looked away, but settled into the warmth of his embrace. It had been a long time since someone she thought so highly of had said anything like that to her. Not since Creed… Her heart, while still knowing it should proceed slowly, beat perceptibly faster.

  "You aren’t so bad yourself," she whispered and slowly put her hands on his waist. "You’re… Well, you’re different."

  Chikara felt a wave of emotion well up inside of her and suddenly there were words pressing against her tongue, fighting to get out. She fought them off for as long as she could, but then she felt his hand slowly slide up the small of her back.

  "I… I missed you when you were gone. Missed seeing you."

  "Yeah… me, too" was the best he could come up with.

  Baka!!!

  "Look," she said, "I had a simple life once upon a time, Cleese. I had a life years ago and that was taken away from me. I had people I cared for and they were taken from me. I had Creed, and he…" She stopped and swallowed hard. "…and he was taken from me. Jesus, I’ve been doing this a long time… too long… and I… I mean, I know the score."

  He looked deep into her eyes and saw tears slowly fill them. Wisely, he said nothing.

  "But now… now that I’ve met you… things have become… I don’t know… different."

  He smiled broadly and winked at her. Deep down, he sensed this train of thought, this view into the things that were important to her, didn’t happen often. He knew better than to interrupt its flow.

  She shot a quick glance over his shoulder and then slowly turned back to him. The smile remained on his face. She saw it and mistook his pleasure for self satisfaction.

  "Well, don’t let it go to your head… Darlin’," she admonished him and then poked his belly firmly. "It’s just that… now…" She looked away as if she were unable to say what she wanted to say and still look him in the eye. "Now that I’ve found something… someone… worthwhile, well… I just think it’s time for me to do a little taking of my own. I…"

  Cleese reached up with one hand and took her chin in his fingers, tilting her face up to meet his. Her eyelids hung at half-mast and her lips softly parted, wet and inviting. He smiled and she returned it warmly as if she were bestowing a gift. Not wanting the moment to end, he gently inclined his head and lowered his lips to meet hers. As they touched, a spark passed between them. They held each other closer and, like travelers lost in the desert and dying of thirst, they drank deeply from one another’s mouths. When they regrettably pulled away from the kiss, they continued to hold onto each other and, for the moment, forgot all about The Dead and The Pit, and how either of them could die at any moment. For now, they were happy to have found one a
nother and both silently made a wish that this embrace would never end.

  ~ * ~

  Across the empty Training Hall, hidden deep within the blackness of the shadows, a lone form, hair tied back in a ponytail, silently watched and considered all the ways that this new development might benefit him.

  The OFM

  "The ‘Oh, Fuck’ Moment"

  "Ladies and gentlemen, you don’t need us to tell you that it has been one exciting first half. There’s been plenty of blood already spilled and, as we head into the second half of this match, there’s bound to be plenty more. As all of you have seen over these past few months, Cleese has proven himself to be nothing short of amazing in his matches. Absolutely hell on wheels and tonight is proving to be no exception. He’s really been pulling out all the stops here and this crowd is eating it up."

  "That’s right, Bob. This fighter has been taking no prisoners and giving no quarter. He’s completed each and every round with minimal difficulty and has, as of now, sustained no damage. I mean, he’s completely unscathed! However, that may all change now that we’re heading into these later rounds and the danger level is even higher. For now, he’s looking pretty good out there with no obvious signs of fatigue. The rest of this match oughtta be a good one!"

  ~ * ~

  Once the last of the UDs was down, Cleese felt exhaustion hit him like a hammer to the solar plexus and his knees abruptly gave out. Bent over, down on all fours, he tried to catch his breath; pulling in—as best he could—great heaving gulps of air. His lungs burned like he’d been free-basing napalm and he was trying hard to forget about the knot that was twisting painfully in his side. He made a quick accounting of his arms, stomach and neck and was relieved to find no cuts, no scrapes and no bites.

  Well, that accounted for something.

  He’d dropped the final UD in short order, making sure that it was dead by plunging the spike deep into its left eye. The metal tip came out of the thing’s head like an antenna just above its ear. Dark blood oozed out onto the sand and soaked the granules in a blue-maroon.