by Greg Ramsay
Over the next month, they replayed the same ‘you’re ruining everything!’ discussions with their citizenship more times than Spirit could count. They even had to stop multiple weak coups perpetrated by drunken old Mots that openly proclaimed they just wanted to die, which weighed on Bruce little, thankfully enough, given their downfall was purely their own. What had been dubbed the throne room by Savage had long since been cleared of bodies by family and Bruce’s soldiers. The political atmosphere everywhere, as far as traders could reach, was, at best, tense. The two races ended up constantly at odds thanks to Bruce and Savage’s conflicting inspirations.
Savage, meanwhile, lived near to the Mecha with a group of traders, trading her knowledge on Bruce with anyone who’d provide living arrangements. Unfortunately for her, that system soon faltered when she realized his strongest enemies had no knowledge or interest in Systema Spetsnaz or the other martial arts Bruce taught her. She’d even had to kill multiple traders she had confided in previously, because they blamed her for various dismemberments received from whichever lieutenant they talked to, an unfortunate cultural response resulting from that vehement disinterest. Ironically, for Savage, their heavy-handed superiority techniques tended to echo her own, so, while she was frustrated, she could understand. Occasionally, she watched as government sanctioned traders would be dispatched with armed royal guard to eventually return with a ‘tax’ in the form of usable materials to repair the fighting pit. Savage would laugh coldly every time a Mot or human would run after the cart exclaiming that they’d stolen the wall to their house, only to be stabbed with a pike or shot.
“The glorious and peaceful rule of King Blackbow!” she would chant sing-song to all those brave enough to listen.
Most bystanders simply retreated rather than associate with her, whether it be due to her failed rule or simply because they didn’t want to risk the over-zealous retaliation of the King’s soldiers. Meanwhile, Bruce knew about this, but repeatedly ordered his supposedly loyal soldiers to purchase materials. To which they would insist they obeyed, and he in turn doubted them. Unfortunately, due to the vastness of Bonerend’s kingdom, change wouldn’t come quickly. Just the slavery issue alone had already caused untold levels of local trauma, let alone kingdom-wide based the on incensed reports he’d get from Mot soldiers returning with the traders.
He’d have to reign in his minions individually later. At least the people of all races were used to that form of brutality, so that managed to not be a cause for uprisings immediately. Bruce left his throne room one morning, tired of its inhospitable warzone-like appearance and wandered out of the Mecha. After a solid hour of jogging, he finally found the fighting pit, a space aptly named for its use and its physical state. The pit itself was simply a bomb crater doubtless made by early non-nuclear strikes that had been decorated with makeshift bleachers and blood-stained spikes that typically held the heads of those who fell.
Far off in the distance, Bruce could see the early beginnings of Bladetooth’s war camp. He was still waiting on Ragerip, and Iceblood. Curious, Bruce intercepted a Mot trader heading in that direction.
“Yes my King?” The Mot asked nervously.
“Why does Bladetooth not advance?” Bruce enquired.
“Challengers gather together before advancing, such is customary. It gives a King a clear view of his opposition, and they an equal audience with him.”
“Thank you, be on your way.” Bruce said, flicking a bottlecap at the trader who caught it deftly.
Guess it doesn’t matter, the Pit isn’t done anyway. Bruce mused and then turned back to his tower, purposefully ignoring the mix of hopeful looks and hate-filled glares he received on a daily basis. Though this at least means Smash is back... Hopefully... Bruce held onto that lingering sense of optimism all the way back to the throne room. For once, to his amazement, his doubt-riddled optimism was finally proven true– Smash walked triumphantly into the room like a self-satisfied hero.
“You did it!” Bruce exclaimed happily.
“You sound surprised? I know, I know, it’s cuz I’m still alive... well don’t be. No King kills a challenge-burdened messenger. The rest, maybe, but challenges are sacred so their messengers are off limits. You’d know that if you conferred with your people instead of just pissing them off all the time– albeit for good reason...” Smash lectured jovially, grabbing Bruce in a friendly hug.
“So, I hear your hot redheaded friend went rogue?” Smash enquired.
“Indeed, we’ll get her back...somehow.”
“You know challenges are mandatory deathmatches, right? There is no other way...”
“...Yes. I do talk to some people....” Bruce admitted.
“Sorry.”
“No worries... it’s my fight. Your job is done.” Bruce said calmly.
“I saw her headed for Bladetooth’s camp, those two aren’t on great terms or so I’m told, what with the whole humans enslaving Mots thing... but as a fellow challenger, you can expect he’ll accommodate her.” Smash explained.
“Well at least she’ll have somewhere to sleep.” Bruce said sadly, dreading the near-future where one of them had to die.
Looking to Smash like he once did with Monster, he decided to be open,
“Savage told me: ‘Only once you’ve lost all hope will you have any chance of remembering who you are, and then in that moment I will end you.’ But she knows I don’t rely on hope, nor has she made a move against me since that day... so frankly I don’t know what to think.” Bruce admitted sadly.
“Look, I think I know you well enough to see you thrive on hopes and dreams or we’d still be on that island. I don’t know what she meant, but I think you gotta rethink your perspective. Anyway, imma go get me some woman love. Have a good one!” Smash said with friendly finality before leaving with a wave.
Soon after, Spirit joined him for the night.
“You know you can have your own house, be anywhere you want right? You don’t have to stay with me.” Bruce said quietly.
“I know.” Spirit said with the slightest hint of irritation.
She stripped out of her armour, admiring the bullet scars like so many times before, then got in the bed with her under armour on.
“When all this mess is sorted I have a request.” She said suddenly.
“Name it.” Bruce replied.
“Ban guns. Fire every bullet in every Holdfast if you have to.” She demanded seriously.
“Your wish is my command, Queen Spirit.” Bruce said jokingly.
“I’m serious!” Spirit huffed.
“I know... I’ll do it. Guns are unsustainable to the point of pointlessness anyway. Hence why they updated retro weaponry, otherwise I wouldn’t have this bow... Besides it’s not like the factories to recycle casings or produce gunpowder survived.” Bruce reasoned.
“So you’re not doing it cuz you don’t want me taking another bullet for you then?” Spirit asked hintingly.
“That much goes without saying.” Bruce replied seriously.
Sometimes some things should still be said. Otherwise people infer their own meanings... like Savage did. Spirit thought to herself, then went to sleep frustrated. Another month passed filled with tense, tedious repetition. Many time Bruce tried to find Savage, desperately hoping to convince her to revoke her challenge, but he couldn’t.
She was careful to avoid him. In Bladetooth’s royal camp, she wandered through hordes of Mots that pined for her. Entering the would-be future King’s tent she was greeted by his sleazy, filthy smile. His signature blade-tooth, a mutated overgrown fang filed down to blade-like proportions, shined when light hit it.
“Do as we agreed...” Bladetooth ordered gruffly, his massive muscular body barely fitting in a throne wider than Bonerend.
Smiling with a practiced air of lust, Savage discarded her weapons and armour, skipping back and forth nude across the tent floor. Bladetooth masturbated violently along with his two small advisors, which, when compared to anyone else weren’
t small at all. The only thing small about them was their genitals. Savage used her urge to laugh at them to keep up her pleasant façade.
“Yes... dance, slut!” One of the advisors groaned with lustful aggression.
Visibly undaunted, Savage skipped back around then walked over to her bow and quiver sexually. She mimed a pretend shot their way then bent down, rapidly nocking an arrow.
“Yes, good whore, show us your talents.” The advisor said mockingly. Savage gave him a big sweet smile and loosed the arrow at full power into his cock.
She allowed him a few agonized screams until the sound annoyed her enough to end him via arrow to the head. Bladetooth’s remaining minion faltered, his face filling with fear. Bladetooth merely laughed while pleasuring himself more aggressively. Savage pranced over to him, deftly sitting across his lap so he could touch her briefly. Seconds later she stepped away, leaving him with nothing.
“I hate you woman... now I’ll need a new lieutenant. Do you want me to kill you when I tire of you?!” Bladetooth moaned.
“No... I want you to kill the other one For me...” Savage said seductively. Laughing cruelly, Bladetooth paused his efforts just long enough to reach over and snap his second advisor’s neck.
“Good... now toss it here.” Incensed at being ordered around, but truly curious, Bladetooth tossed the body her way.
With the practiced grace from her days as a sex slave, Savage mounted the corpse left laying on its back. Moaning gratuitously, she rode its still erect cock for a while then, at Bladetooth’s gesture, went back to prancing around. Bladetooth laughed suddenly, his ejaculate blasting all over him. Finally. Savage thought, unceremoniously dressing so she could be on her way.
Upon entering the tent her occasional easy services paid for, she was faced by a relaxed Mot messenger with a placative expression.
“Forgive the intrusion, Mistress Queen Regnant. It is my duty to inform to the fighting pit is finally ready. Per your wishes future king Bladetooth will allow you to fight King Blackbow first. Should you win, you will face him, then Ragerip, and finally Iceblood. The matchups are pre-determined by what order opponents arrived in. I apologize if this offends you...” The messenger left slowly, affording her a deep bow.
Savage stood armed for war with a huge murderous smile on her face offset by a sadness creeping into her eyes that she quickly buried.
“Today the hero breaks.” She said menacingly, then followed the messenger to her most important fight.
Similarly, Bruce too found himself escorted to a staircase into the pit flanked by railings. Crowds gathered peacefully around the staircases that were arranged opposite each other allowing opponents to eye each other all the way down. Bruce left his mask on the railing so he could face her properly, hoping inwardly that the convictions in his mind would reach her via his expressions. Are we going to die before we even get down there? Bruce wondered, noting the flimsy looking rot-wood staircase that dropped into a deep cavernous expanse. A jagged bowl to hold our blood as an offering to barbarism.
Bruce detailed, looking down into the pit itself, which was indeed rough. The only smooth points it had were likely made by huge warriors’ feet over centuries of duels. It’s just the rocky equivalent of a wild forest. Savage noted, unimpressed by the supposed terror the pit inspired.
“I was told there’d be skulls all down the railings... I’m disappointed. Maybe I’ll put yours on one when I’m done!” Savage called out.
The ever-growing crowd cheered. Undaunted by her wanton bravado Bruce casually observed the crowd as he descended.
“Nothing unifies warring races like bloodlust.” Bruce stated, disappointed.
“The same thing that kept us going on that island, Brucey.” Savage replied.
“Maybe it was that way for you, I’ve only ever wanted to stop the madness!” Bruce retorted, drawing the occasionally boo from onlookers.
“Bullshit!” Savage yelled. They both readied their bows, standing eye to eye in the waste and blood stain filled pit.
“You may’ve forgotten but deep down I know you... I know what you are. It seems I care for you far more than you for me.” Savage stated right as she loosed her first arrow.
Bruce leaned to the side acrobatically, letting it fly by harmlessly.
“I don’t want to do this. Stop this now!” Bruce demanded.
“I told you, you gave me away. I’m no longer your pawn to command!” Savage growled then rushed headlong towards him.
They traded blow after blow. Bruce fought hard to subdue her but she wouldn’t let him. His blow clashed with her blade repeatedly with amazing violence.
“You were never a pawn!” Bruce yelled, dodging, and weaving through her attacks.
Roaring angrily, Savage focused all her efforts on his exposed head, which forced Bruce to actually fight back. Loud thumping echoed through the cheers and booing of various onlookers every time their armoured appendages or lethal weapons struck home. Gradually what supporters they had soon booed as well. Savage laughed.
“Seems your adoring subjects tire of this bloodless scramble. Let’s fix that!” Savage roared, throwing Bruce over her shoulder violently.
To his horror, she had stood, nocked and loosed an arrow before he could take her down. The arrow carved a deep gash across his face that bled profusely. Enraged, Bruce took her down hard, rapidly pummeling her head into the ground with both fists. Bruised, bleeding and disoriented, Savage laughed madly over the cheers of the crowd. Bruce backed away, nocking an arrow, ready to end it all. Savage stood slowly, her head swimming slightly.
“That’s it... that’s it... Come on!” Savage roared, drawing raging agreement from the crowd. Caught off guard by his own violence, Bruce released the tension on his bowstring slowly.
“No.” Bruce stated righteously.
“Oh fuck off already... news flash: you’re not a liberating hero, you never were and never will be! You, like me, are nothing more than a warped killer.”
“I won’t do it.” Bruce exclaimed angrily, tears welling in his eyes.
“Aaarg!” Savage roared, firing another arrow across his cheek above the gash from the first.
“Don’t fucking cry at me, you don’t even care. You’re not even smart enough to know what real caring is... You’re just a glorified self-righteous idiot living on hopes and dreams.” Savage exclaimed angrily, smiling coldly as she watched his blood drip down his armour.
Bruce watched her eyes rotate between psychotic rage, desperation, and a faint hint of depression while her face held onto her usual mad smile. I just wanted to make peace... I just... Bruce pleaded inwardly, his cold façade held because deep down he knew words meant nothing to her. I think I know you well enough to know your almost all hopes and dreams or we’d still be on that island. He heard Smash say in his mind. ...you’re the murderous war machine that’s now playing at being a hero for all the world’s victims... prove you care about me as person and not as a broken pawn... Only once you’ve lost all hope will you have any chance of remembering who you are... Savage’s words spun around in his mind, compelling him to ready his bow once more.
Seeing this, a tear fell from Savages eye while for the briefest moment her smile seemed genuine.
“I do care about you... I finally understand.” Bruce said sadly then loosed the arrow into her forehead.
Tears threatened to burst from his eyes like the dust stirred from the jagged ground where Savage’s body fell. He saw her smile remained frozen on her face when he knelt over her.
“I thought I wasn’t playing hero, but deep down... I hoped I could be something more... Instead of just a killer...but you’re right, I’ve only ever been vengeful, self-righteous... and a hypocrite. And you suffered for it. Forgive me. May you find peace in death... And thanks for ending that version of me. I think I know how to be a good king now.” Bruce stated with a resolute seriousness unlike anything he’d felt before. But first, I must finish the fight. He thought, bracing himself so could su
ppress his inner crippling sadness.
Chapter 14 – Arduous Challenges
Bruce was forced to wait in the pit, both exits having been sealed by armed guards. Above what was previously Savage’s entrance the guards parted. Before Bladetooth even set foot on the stairs, the crowd began cheering uproariously. Bruce could feel tremors in the ground strengthen with every step he took towards Bruce. His signature tooth glinted in the sunlight, forcing Bruce to look into his blood red in-set eyes.
The closer he got the more Bruce realized just how much of a disadvantage he was faced with. Bladetooth was a whole foot taller than Bonerend and easily a couple of inches wider. His hulking muscles bulged threateningly. He wore a makeshift metal helmet over his head that covered his neck, while his entire body had huge sections of various metals tied to it like plate armour. He looks like a walking rusted tank. Bruce thought, his eyes falling on Bladetooth’s huge improvised sword.
It looked to be made of a single piece of jagged shining metal, it was an intimidating ode to his signature tooth.
“Greetings, King. Regrettably you killed my favorite girl and ruined the lives of so many. For all that my cordial nature will grace you no longer. You die this day with just brutality.” Bladetooth growled, stepping over Savage’s abandoned body.
Bitch, if you care so much bury her... Bruce thought.
“Where did all of you dicks learn to be so damn verbose?! Just get this over with.” Bruce commanded irritably.
Bladetooth laughed, his voice like a grating growl. “The previous king spent his first 100 years raiding libraries with us, building his intellect with what remained of your people’s precious knowledge. Naturally anyone directly under him was expected to be an equal if they ever hoped to replace him... not so for all of the citizens, but that’s why they get sent away. Consider that answer your dying request fulfilled. Shall we commence?”