Coal lowered close to her face and, as quietly as possible, asked, “Do you have a token I may carry into battle, My Lady?”
She arched an eyebrow and regarded him as if confused by his question. Then, without further hesitation, her fingers untied the black ribbon around her neck. Her hands shook, the only part of her that relayed any definable emotion, as she retied the shiny trim around his wrist in several knots. A shy smile touched her lips for a brief moment, before it relaxed into the usual emotionless expression. Lynden flicked the black and red strands hanging over his eye.
“My money is on you, Mr. Awesome.”
“I fight for you, Lyn.” He exhaled a shaky breath. “There are many injustices, but I wished for you to know that a man fights in your honor.”
Her mouth parted as her eyes glossed beneath the dark lighting. The openness pulled Coal in, and he found her emotional display quite fetching. She leaned forward, resting her hands on his upper chest, and his muscles tightened under her touch. Then, her lips found his and her hands slipped around his neck. For a few seconds of bliss, the world completely disappeared. The affection was unexpected, but he reasoned it was part of the act they all performed. Their mouths continued to embrace as they communicated their need of each other, a need for comfort, a need for reassurance, a need to be known. As Lynden pulled away, she kept her eyes to the ground, and said, “I hope you win.”
Her eyes flashed to his for half a heartbeat, right before she spun on her heel and sauntered over to Mack and Mel. Coal attempted to process her comment, but his mind was far too distracted. The spooky being extended a hand to Lynden and helped her rise to a plush seat that overlooked the arena from the side. Pupil-less eyes fixed on Coal, canine’s bared, as Mel situated beside Lynden.
Creeped out, Coal rolled his body toward the glowing tattooed man, who began to apply electro-sensor patches to various parts of his body. He knew from videos, and explanations from Ignis, that these patches would release electric pulses to his muscles and stimulate the feel of punches, kicks, and other injuries sustained from fighting.
Nerves fluttered and raced through his body, and he tensed and relaxed his muscles. The energy trickled from his upper body, kick-starting his heart, and traveled down his legs. He started to jump on the balls of his feet as he swept an uncertain gaze over the crowd. The current game ended and the winning cage blazed with white lights as music pumped in celebration. Coal used the opportunity to study the man he would fight, a small smile forming upon noting his opponent’s unremarkable build.
The tattooed man tapped Coal’s right foot and he lifted it off the ground. With a dab of adhesive, the man applied a flat tracker to the sole of Coal’s boot and helped him back into it. Then he did the same to the other foot. Next, Coal was offered a small pair of goggles, which suctioned to his eyes and strapped around his head. Once the man confirmed it was snug, he slapped Coal on the shoulder and led him to the open cage.
The lights doused and the room blackened. However, the goggles showed Coal a clear path to the circular treadmill he would stand upon. The disc––its diameter the length of two men––lay upon the ground, its edges curved upward. Arms protruded out from the disc and angled back toward the center, supporting a padded ring that would ensure his physical body did not hit pavement should he fall to the virtual floor. No matter how many times Coal studied the gaming apparatus, his mind transformed the machine into a dead spider upon its back, legs curled toward its belly. The disturbing image did not help his anxiety.
Nearly five weeks ago, he awoke in linen garb and tinkered in a Forge to build and provide for his community. Now, he walked into an entirely different enclosure, directed by high technology, to entertain a different community in order to provide for the one he left behind. The thoughts racing through his mind were baffling.
Trackers on his soles connected to the computer system and a confirmation screen appeared through the lenses of his goggles. He closed the arm of the apparatus, which circled around his body. Coal looked around and noted four drones hovering along the ceiling to record and build a three hundred-and-sixty-degree view of his body. A red light appeared, and he stood still as they scanned him from head to toe. A few seconds later, their signals turned green.
Lights flashed on and the deejay announced Coal—Draken Smyth—and his opponent, Kenzo Suzami. Coal bowed to pay his respects and threw his arms out when the screen went black. Breath slowly escaped through clenched teeth as he waited. The roar of the crowd competed with the heartbeats pounding in his ears.
“Fighters, are you ready?” The deejay’s voice filled the room, and Coal bowed toward him. “Time to get served!”
A green light blinked in the corner of Coal’s vision. The next thing he knew, he was in a desert. His breath came in quick and sweat started to form on his forehead—and he had not even battled yet. He was a hammer, and the opponent an anvil. He would not be so easily conquered, he chanted in his mind. This was not real. Nothing about this moment was real. He was not truly in danger. “I am awesome,” he muttered under his breath.
Coal skimmed over his environment. A crumbling sandstone temple towered over the landscape in the near distance. Its ancient beauty filled Coal with awe and he blinked, disbelieving. Around the temple, monolithic statues shot up like spires. Others rested on their sides, chunks and bits unearthed in the sand. Various sized gears protruded sporadically from the ground. He tilted his head and studied the metal objects, unsure of why copper, bronze, and nickel gears were necessary in such an ancient civilization.
Not seeing Kenzo, he moved toward the temple. The virtual sand issued a resistance and the sensors on his legs pulsed in response. Soon, the dark entrance yawned. He hesitated a moment, then stepped into the ruins with equal parts courage and wariness. Steam hissed to his right and Coal jumped, his vision clouding with the thick vapor. He stepped back and, when clarity returned, examined the intestines of a machine. Copper pipes ran across the walls, and valves released spurts of steam at different joints. A strange hum purred in the distance, but he could not ascertain from what direction.
Why did an ancient temple contain pipes and steam mechanics?
Was the temple a machine itself?
He did not have much time to dwell upon such an enigma. The sensor patches came to life and pain shot through his jaw. His head flung back with a snap. The muscles in his stomach cramped next and he gasped for air. Through the haze, he locked onto a fist disappearing into the cloud of steam. Now he was pissed. Coal rotated to his left and side-stepped back, fists up at face level. Kenzo emerged from behind the cloud, his lip curled in satisfaction. Bright yellow hair was arranged in sharp spikes all over the fighter’s head, drawing Coal’s attention. But not for long. The young man threw another punch and Coal instinctively blocked.
A fist flew his direction. He ducked to the left to avoid another hit. He kicked, but misgauged the distance and bypassed his opponent entirely. The virtual system was a slippery concept. He fought air. Yet the pain begged to differ. Heaving for breath, both men circled away and studied each other.
A valve hissed and released another cloud of steam. Kenzo darted his eyes to the source of sound, all Coal needed. He seized the distraction and delivered an upper-cut to the jaw, making solid contact. The yellow-haired man’s body went rigid. Coal swung another punch, connecting to the side of Kenzo’s face. Spit flew from Kenzo’s mouth as he staggered back a few steps. The goggles lit up on the sides confirming the hits. The visual distraction hurt Coal’s eyes and he winced. Sensors in his hands pulsed and rewarded him with pain. Coal grit his teeth. Jumping on the toes of his boots, he flexed his hands and shook it out.
Ready for more, he balled his fists. Coal’s upper body tensed as he arced another blow toward Kenzo’s stomach. As Coal rotated, the muscles across his torso and back rippled, tight and coiled. Kenzo twisted his body at the last second. But Coal could not halt the momentum. With a crunch, his hand collided with the man’s hip bone. Fire spread
through Coal’s arm and he recoiled. The intensity stole the air from his lungs. Sweat broke out over his entire body in a cold flush. His hand still flexed, though, and Coal released a relieved sigh.
Dazed, he failed to block Kenzo, who grabbed Coal’s head. Surging through the pain, Coal counterattacked. They grappled with each other in a lock, neither able to reasonably inflict injury on the other. Then Coal remembered a move he saw in one of the videos and fell back toward the ground, pulling Kenzo down with him. His grip tightened round Kenzo’s neck as he rolled behind the man. Inexperience, however, stinted his too-slow if graceful maneuver, and Kenzo broke free.
They jumped to their feet, arms and fists at the ready. Steam hissed and billowed from several valves. Vapor filled the room. Kenzo’s form disappeared from sight. Wary, Coal moved backwards out of the shadows and into the false sunlight. The mist gleamed and sparkled, and Coal squinted against the glare.
Tearing through the cloud, Kenzo charged with a loud growl. Coal held his position and glowered, lifting a corner of his mouth. Right before collision, Coal feinted left and then dodged right, grabbing Kenzo by the arm in the confusion. The man screamed as Coal flung him across the courtyard with a hard yank. Yellow hair flew in a streaking blur, and his flailing body crashed into a pile of long, thorny sticks.
Quick and nimble, Kenzo jumped back to his feet. It was such an unnatural response that Coal simply stared, unmoving. A stupid mistake. Before Coal could blink, Kenzo grabbed a large stick with a wicked grin and swung at Coal’s head. Unable to move away fast enough, Coal arched back until a hand touched the ground and his face was perpendicular to the cerulean digital sky. It was if time slowed, his core muscles and thighs hardening, burning with strain each second. The stick glanced over his head in a rush of air and a thorn sliced across Coal’s cheek. The sensors pulsed and flared as his back rolled to a straight position. His fists lifted in defense as he angled his body to the side. A sticky sensation ran down his face. He almost lifted a hand to inspect. But it was not real. Nothing was real. Anger surged through him and he clenched his jaw.
Poised for another hit, Kenzo lifted his staff. Tiny spots of blood flecked the man’s body from the thorns. The stick swooshed toward Coal’s shin in a sharp cut. He sprang up in a leap, the staff swiping the air beneath his feet. He hit the ground running and dashed to a nearby fallen statue.
Coal grunted as he jumped high off the sand and landed firmly on top of the sandstone structure. Every muscle was taut and coiled for action. Kenzo joined him and pieces of the statue crumbled beneath his feet as he sought balance on the unstable monument. Still, the stick remained clutched in the man’s hand. Coal looked around.
What were his options?
He did not know. There was nothing but sand and statue. Desperate, he did the only logical thing that came to mind. In a swinging arc, his boot kicked Kenzo’s hand and dislodged the staff. Sand moved, as if hungry, chewing, taking bites, and the stick was devoured within seconds. Kenzo scowled with fury, but Coal was terror-stricken.
The sand lived?
Kenzo leaned over the edge with one final look and spit at the sand. Then, he sharply turned Coal’s direction, slipping on the statue with his abrupt movements. Coal capitalized on the moment, marching over and kicking him hard in the gut. The man fell off the statue, arms open wide, and slammed into the sand with a solid thud. Living sand or no, Coal was determined to end this fight. He pivoted on his heel and launched from the statue and fell onto Kenzo with a growl of his own. After a small struggle, Coal had him pinned. Adrenaline coursed like liquid fire, his head buzzing with battle fury. He was the hammer. Kenzo was the anvil. Coal struck Kenzo across the cheek, then pummeled his face, delivering one solid blow after another.
Blood spurted from Kenzo’s nose and dribbled from his lips. Within seconds, dark red oozed and gushed down the man’s chin and neck. Coal pushed away. Kenzo maneuvered onto his knees and slowly crawled away, the spit and blood sizzling on the sand. Coal stared at his hands, drenched in blood, and at Kenzo’s dripping face—the visuals taking hold of his mind despite efforts to block them. He did not recall this level of reality when studying the videos, and his stomach sickened. No time to reflect.
A whirring sound sliced through the air. Coal’s head snapped up. His eyes locked onto a metal disc whizzing toward him at great speed. He ducked and nervously sucked in his bottom lip as the gear entrenched itself into the sand behind him. Coal snatched up the gear and raised it above his head as he had seen in illustrations of Greek disc throwers, flexing his muscles as a show of intimidation. Kenzo’s eyes widened and he took a single step back. Coal hurled the bronze gear with a loud grunt. A smug grin widened on the man’s face, and he easily moved out of the gear’s trajectory. Inflamed, Coal looked around for another object to throw.
Laughter taunted him. Coal shifted his focus to the bloodied man just as another gear carved the air. Coal dove to the side and ploughed into the sand. Pin-prick sensations tingled across his face. A deep, guttural growl surfaced as he picked himself up. But Kenzo rammed into his body, knocking the breath from him. Electro-sensors flared and his muscles spasmed. Coal groaned.
The young man straddled Coal’s body and pinned his arms. Coal drew a breath and head-butted him in the chin. Bright red spittle dotted the air. Kenzo bared his blood stained teeth, then spit in Coal’s face. Fear fired through Coal in hot waves and he pushed and twisted to roll away. But his strength was draining with each electro-shock. A shadow crossed Coal’s face as Kenzo lifted a chunk of crumbled statue. He shoved the young man just as the statue remnant bludgeoned Coal in the side of his head. A red light flashed in Coal’s goggles as sharp pain lanced through his skull and down his spine. He let out a scream, his body arching in pain. He lashed out to throttle Kenzo, but his arm glitched, blinked, and faded from the scenery as the rock crashed into his head once more.
The words “Critical Hit” flashed across the screens.
The goggles returned to normal vision just as he was plunged into darkness. Coal pulled the virtual equipment off and shook the sweat from his head. His chest heaved for breath as his muscles twitched. It was not real. Nothing about that world or its dangers was real. But the pain still shuddered through his body until queasiness settled in his stomach. Coal opened the arm of the apparatus and walked from the circular treadmill, hoping he would not retch. He approached the cage door, which opened as he neared. The tattooed man shook his hand and led him back to the waiting pen.
People shouted his handle, but all Coal wished to do was dress and sit down to gather himself. Lynden approached him, her steps unsure as if she now feared him. The very notion conjured more shame. He had failed to beat his opponent, which he expected for a first attempt at anything. But his pride would not allow him to properly face the woman for whom he pledged to fight. Nor could he digest the humility of failing to secure Mel’s blessing for the collaborative hack. As if to add insult to injury, the spectators continued to chant his name. He cringed.
“Why do they call my name?” Coal finally asked Lynden, chancing a glimpse of the crowd. “I lost the fight, did I not?”
She twisted the ring on her thumb and looked anywhere but at him. “Fights aren’t always about winning or losing.”
Distressed by her answer, Coal pushed his eyebrows together, thankful that the dark lighting hid his embarrassment.
The tattooed man peeled the sensors from his body, pulling at his skin and removing fine hairs. The discomfort was minuscule compared to the spasms still wracking his muscles. When finished, he took his clothes from Lynden’s hands and dressed, trying to keep his hands from shaking with adrenaline. Coal lifted the hood of his jacket far over his head and hid his face from the spectators who reached out and touched him as he walked past, shouting praises and adoration.
A wild look blazed in Mack’s eyes as he shrugged his eyebrows and bit down on his tongue suggestively at Coal. Confused, Coal fixed his eyes back to the ground. He followed Mack and Mel
along the walkway and out of the server room, fatigued yet still pumped. They traveled down the long hallway and back into the small, private room.
Coal slumped into a chair and Lynden cozied into his lap for lack of a seat. They avoided each other’s eyes, only increasing his awareness of her. He thought of their kiss, and tried to stop. Nor could he look away from the exposed, freckled skin resting against him. She fingered the black ribbon around his wrist and he released a sigh. His entire system caught fire under her touch. In a moment of weakness, he brushed the hair from the back of her neck and planted a light kiss on the dragon tattoo perched below her shoulder. Lynden stilled, then wove her fingers with his.
He wished to pull her to himself and indulge in her softness, to feel something gentle and feminine while the adrenaline of battle still coursed through his veins. Such thoughts increased his shame and he cleared his throat and rested his head against the back of the chair as his eyes tracked the pipes along the ceiling.
“Mr. Smyth,” Mel said in—their—eerily soft voice. “You are a beautiful fighter. Watching your body in motion was like watching living art. A pleasure the crowd experienced as well. I can only imagine how you must fight when not jet-lagged.”
Coal tried not to gape in surprise. Somehow he managed, “Thank you,” in the rush of relief.
“Mr. Ferguson, I accept your offer of one and a half times the set values and twenty-eight and a half percent retainer.” Black eyes moved to Mack. “Message me your preferred team and bring the retainer within two days to finalize plans. We’ll collaborate on October twenty-ninth, right after midnight.” Mel rose from the chair and glided across the floor directly toward a black wall. Without turning, they said, “Please send Corlan my greetings.” Then the otherworldly being disappeared into the wall.
Coal gasped. Mack leaned forward and whispered, “It’s a trick wall. An illusion.” Mack then whooped and gripped Coal around the bicep with a small shake, and Coal flinched. “It’s going to happen.”
Elements (The Biodome Chronicles series Book 2) Page 42