by O. J. Lowe
“Okay,” he said. “Do your worst.”
The ghost sprang out of his shadow and landed on the field, waving confidently to a surprised crowd, even blowing kisses to the opponent. They were a mismatched pair, the veek all feline and lizard grace, deadly in its movements and the ghost, short and fat with four ears, three eyes and a mohawk. He felt the silence blanket the stadium, surprise and shock in the air. Hey, it wasn’t any less unconventional an entrance than the way Kitti Sommer had rode into her battle with Pete yesterday. It was convention to use a container crystal. Not a requirement. He smiled at Saarth.
“Hey,” he said out the corner of his mouth to the ghost. He turned his head back and glanced at him with a bemused expression as if to say ‘what?’ “Permear.”
“What?!”
“I’m calling you Permear if you’re sticking with me. You get me?”
“I Permear.” The ghost didn’t look unhappy with the name, he only shrugged. “Fair.”
The buzzer went to signal the start of the round, he suddenly felt the first traces of doubt creep into him. He tried to quash them, not quite sure if he was ready to admit he’d just made a horrible mistake or not. Either way, he’d live or die by his decision. He couldn’t look back, had to keep staring forward and hope for the best. As strategies went, it was a poor one but when victory came, he had no doubt it’d taste that much sweeter.
Of course, there were going to be problems. The first thing he realised was with no traditional bond between them, he couldn’t issue silent commands. The second thing being he didn’t know the complete capabilities of the spirit he was commanding. The third… That veek looked pissed off and ready for battle. Already it lunged for Permear and swiped with glimmering claws.
Dodge… “Dodge!” he yelled, the action bringing a surprised look from Saarth. Fourth problem. When you could issue the command mentally, it was like working with an extension of your own body. You thought, you did. Here, you thought, you spoke, you did. Split seconds might make the difference, tiny margins measured success.
He was starting to regret it more by the second, especially as the dodge was delayed, Permear lunged backwards and the claws only raked his front, scattering ectoplasm onto the ground. It faded into the dirt almost immediately, it wasn’t a good sight. If the veek could hurt Permear, it might be a short fight. Part of what made ghosts such an intimidating foe was that they were hard to hurt. Techniques to trap and damage them were becoming more common, callers becoming more ingenious in their strategies, but you couldn’t plan for everything.
“That hurt I,” Permear groaned. He wasn’t sure if Saarth could hear the ghost or not. If it was only him that could hear Permear, it might get awkward. “Let me at him.”
“What can you actually do?” Scott wondered. “Got anything powerful?”
“I powerful.” The ghost sounded insulted. “Want I prove it?”
“Wait, no…!” Scott almost yelled, saw the veek coming and he didn’t know what Permear had in mind, but it didn’t feel a good idea to let the ghost call the shots. The claws were outstretched again, ready to slash deep into the permeable membrane that was Permear’s skin and then suddenly the ghost wasn’t there any longer. Saarth’s eyes widened, the veek crashed gracelessly into the ground and rose to all four feet, hissing angrily as Scott saw it sweeping its head back and forth in search of the opponent. It didn’t see Permear burst from the ground below, swinging a shining purple fist into its face. Scott heard the thud, saw blood fly and heard the howl. As Permear ducked, hiding again, he saw the bloody mess the blow had left of the face.
His spirits leapt, he silently urged the ghost on, even if he wasn’t sure he could hear him or not. The feline face lashed back and forth, half blind, searching out a possible target it couldn’t find. Not until Permear swept up behind it and tugged the tail playfully. It brought a laugh out of the crowd, even a smile to Scott’s face and Saarth looked furious as her veek lunged backwards, snapping crooked yellow teeth at the ghost. They passed harmlessly through his skin and the next thing Scott knew, something flashed with a malignant black energy and suddenly the veek was airborne, thrown skyward by a wave of pure force. Scott saw it crumple as it hit the ground and winced. That had looked painful.
“Damn right it painful,” Permear said. One moment he was stood several feet from the fallen veek, the next he took one step and suddenly stood above it, body contorting almost acrobatically to make the movement.
“Sataris!” Saarth yelled, her façade of cool broken as Permear stood lazily above the veek as if contemplating how best to break it. It was comparable with the look of a destructive child and Scott found himself wondering if that wasn’t such a bad comparison. There was something almost appalling in the state of careless innocence around the ghost.
“What you reckon? Painful or effective? Which best?” Those words emphasised the point, if anything and he recoiled slightly. They just sounded so casual, devoid entirely of compassion. “These bones break right?”
“Yeah, they break,” Scott said. The words felt hollow in his mouth, as quiet as they might have been. He knew Permear would hear him, knew Saarth would see his lips move and read something into it.
“Fatal?”
“If you’re going to do it, just bloody do it!” Scott almost yelled out, acutely aware of how it must look on camera. Like he was losing his cool. “Don’t talk back about the best way to kill something!” He swallowed hard. This wasn’t going to plan, he’d need to do something drastic to keep things under control. He could feel that victory slipping away from him.
“Oh, aye-aye, bagmeat,” Permear said, moving to the veek’s head. It had started to get to its feet, shaking itself woozily. It had taken a few big hits; its eyes were vacant, and Scott could tell that it didn’t have much left. Then again Saarth had thought that with Herc in round two. He wasn’t taking anything for granted. Sataris was quickly put back to the ground with a punch to the back of the head, bones tearing out through the muscle and the flesh of its legs as bones snapped violently under the crushing force of the blow.
For something composed entirely of smog and a void, Permear could certainly pack a punch. It’d be worth knowing for future. The ghost hadn’t stopped there though, both hands forced through Sataris’ skull and all three eyes furrowing in concentration. The veek’s head jerked under the motions of whatever Permear was doing, eyes slowly regaining some focus, mouth snapping back and forth aimlessly. It was drooling, like it was fucked in the head.
“Hey, check out,” Permear yelled. “Puppets.”
He could hear some disgruntled sounds coming from the crowd and Scott had to admit he felt a little uncomfortable. People didn’t know Permear wasn’t under his control, they’d… Yipes… Somehow, he knew he was going to be portrayed as a seriously deranged human being come the end.
“Permear, that’s enough!” he said, trying to keep some authority in his voice. “Stop it!”
“No! It fun!”
“Permear, just kill it and have done with it!” He whispered harshly. “Please!”
All three eyes swept towards him in exasperation and suddenly all movement stopped. The head hung there in the ghost’s grasp for a moment and then Permear gave him a huge grin. Not a pleasant one either, he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what came next. It almost looked like the ghost was tugging on something. Somewhere he heard the crack starting to fill the air, growing in volume by the second and saw the look of determined focus flash across ghostly features, he realised too late what was going to happen.
Silence filled the stadium as something soft hit the ground at Permear’s feet, he wiped his hands on the dead veek’s fur. “It cool if I eat them?” he inquired of Scott who was doing his best to avoid being sick. That image really didn’t help. Did the ghost even eat? Suddenly it felt like the last question he ever wanted answered.
Only the announcer could be heard amidst the stunned silence, narrating exactly what had just happened, as if people
needed to be reminded. The people listening on the radio were probably in for an audio treat. Saarth looked furious. Scott didn’t exactly feel pleased about it himself as the video referee signalled the end of the bout, he grabbed a container crystal out of his pocket, an empty one and tore onto the field. Permear glanced around, didn’t even react as Scott jumped on him and clapped the crystal into him. There was no resistance, he didn’t feel him fight the process. For better or worse, Permear had accepted him. And now he was laid in veek brains, squashed them beneath him as he’d landed.
Fantastic. This day had just gotten that little bit better.
Why didn’t he feel good about his victory? He didn’t know as he strode out the changing room and straight into the pack of press waiting for him, flashes forcing him to shield his eyes as images were snapped and recorders thrust into him. Suddenly he was glad Permear wasn’t about, he could imagine the ghost taking ultimate exception to this sort of ambush.
Given what he’d just done, he didn’t want to be the one explaining a dozen maimed corpses. There usually was some press hanging about for quotes following the end of bouts but never like this. One or two, maybe four at most but twenty?! Overkill. He had a feeling he might know what the first questions would be too.
“Guys, I just went through a tough battle,” he said. “And I’ve got to assure some people I’m not losing the plot. Just get your questions asked and I’ll answer them. Let’s not make it longer than it has to be.” It sounded rougher than he meant it to. Screw it. It worked for him. It felt right.
“Scott was that really the best way for you to win that bout?!”
First question and he shook his head. “Look I won, I’m happy with that and it was just the way it evolved in the flow of battle. I didn’t go into the bout planning it. Next question?”
“Did you think there was excessive force employed in what you just did?”
Once more, he shook his head, tried to keep a straight face. He had a headache and a feeling this was going to get tiresome very quickly. “It could be argued anything that results in the opponent being defeated is just the right amount of force. It was a brutal finishing move but hey, it’s a brutal sport.”
“Did it show a lack of respect for your opponent?!”
The third question and it came from the same reporter as the first, a Serranian journalist who looked somewhat familiar, a brown-haired man whose face he couldn’t place. “No, that wasn’t my intention. If I’d known who Weronika Saarth was before the tournament, I’d have the highest respect for her in getting here.”
He blanched inwardly at the answer. It sounded a lot more arrogant out loud than in his head. Oh well, no taking it back now. Then again, maybe arrogance was the wrong word. Condescending, yes. Arrogance, perhaps not.
“Is it true that you hadn’t actually claimed that ghost until after you’d won?”
This came from someone whose name he did know; he’d read her article about how the island was a stupid place to hold the tournament earlier. Kate Kinsella. She’d slated Ritellia, he had a horrible feeling he might be next. “Well I think actions speak louder than words on this answer. You saw what I did. Draw your own conclusions.”
He hadn’t denied it but neither had he confirmed it and that felt like the best way to go. Scott saw a flash of something in her eyes and that confirmed it for him. Yep, he was going to get it in the media at some point in the next few days. “I mean, when I say draw your own conclusion… If I’d used a spirit I hadn’t claimed, that’d be either phenomenally stupid or tremendously skilful, wouldn’t you say? I mean there’d be nothing making it listen to me. I mean obviously I’d like to lean towards the latter but hey that might just be me being a bit big-headed and nobody likes that, right?”
When nobody answered, he gave one final comment on the matter. “I don’t want to come off like that. But preferably not as psychotic either.” So far nobody had mentioned he’d looked like he was talking to his shadow. That was a relief, a big one, if he was honest. He didn’t have an answer to that. “I mean, you enter, you win or lose. Them’s the breaks, right?”
“Are you worried you might be kicked out the competition?”
A Vazaran had asked the question and he laughed nervously. “No. Not even in the slightest. Nobody has ever been kicked out of this tournament for winning like that, not to my knowledge. It sets dangerous precedent. Or does the ICCC want nice clean wins with no blood now? Seems like something they’d come out with. Violence by its nature is never tame and this is a violent sport. Sometimes people forget that. Thank you, no more questions!”
He grinned at them, quickly made his way past and out into the stadium proper, a little pleased with himself given that answer. It had felt clever. He’d enjoyed it, felt like a middle finger to anyone who criticised him for the way things had gone down.
“Hey, Mr Taylor!”
One final question and he half- turned his head to the speaker, unable to help himself. Kinsella again. He had a feeling he might be about to regret answering this. She had a sweet venomous smile about her scarlet lips. Like tongue kissing poison ivy.
“What’s happening with you and Mia Arnholt?”
“None of your business!” It came out brusque, he was already gone before anything else could come his way. It had been a cheap shot from her, wasn’t any of her business though too late he realised he’d probably just confirmed there was something going on. If there hadn’t been, he’d have said nothing and that would have been the end. Instead, he’d made a rod for his own back and chances were that it’d come swinging down sooner or later.
Especially if her dad found out… He liked Terrence Arnholt from what little knowledge of him he had, he’d gotten on with him whenever he’d talked to him, but he was a pretty imposing figure. He could be intimidating, thankfully he’d never seen him in that light, but it didn’t take a lot of imagination to picture him a violent, protective father who felt vengeful when it came to guys sniffing round his daughter.
He’d worry about it when it came down to it. That was all he could do. It might not get that far. In his heart of hearts, Scott Taylor knew he could always hope for nothing. If it came up roses, it’d just be a big bonus.
Walking past the locker rooms and the media area and up into the concourse, he saw them waiting for him. There was a special area in most stadiums for nominated guests to meet the contestants after the bout, just out of sight of the public, a walled off area about a fourth the size of an average spirit calling battlefield. The one in this stadium was a pretty plain affair, cold grey flooring beneath his shoes and sparsely decorated walls with just one poster stuck on them filled with just a few words. He glanced to his left, read the words as he passed by and smiled. He’d heard it before, but it was a good one.
If you think you can, do. If you think you can’t, why? – Ruud Baxter.
As quotes went, it spoke to him. He’d always seen it about never letting other people impose limits on you. You were the master of your own destiny, you made your own choices and you lived or died by them.
Pete saw him first, a smirk passing across his face as their eyes met. Scott knew how much Pete had been hurt by going out of the tournament though he hoped his friend would throw all his support behind him now. It was what he would have done for him in the same situation. Doubly so now Sharon had gone out as well for Scott might have been a leery about asking Pete to pick his friend over his sister but now he had no excuse. Matt out. Pete out. Sharon out… He wasn’t doing too bad really to get to the last twelve. Matt and Mia were both there making up the trio. The three people he felt closest to on the island right now and they’d all made his guest list. Granted it was also a list Jess had once been on, but he’d struck her off it at the first available opportunity. That’d be awkward if she and Mia came face to face down here.
Smiles all around, Mia almost leaped on him with a hug, he had to steady himself to avoid toppling backwards. He felt her lips on his and grinned, returning the gest
ure. Suddenly he was glad this hadn’t happened a dozen feet back, would have given the media an unexpected exclusive. At the same time, Matt and Pete were both wringing his hands, offering their congratulations and their compliments, even if he could hear Matt muttering about how he didn’t need to see his sister doing this. If anything, that made the whole experience sweeter.
As Mia broke away, he saw the emotion in her eyes and just for a moment, felt a little guilty. She looked like she’d been through the emotional wringer watching him fight. “Hey,” he said. “Someone’s happy to see me.”
“We’re all happy to see you,” Matt said. “Probably more than some people on the island anyway… You see Weronika’s comments after the bout?!”
Scott groaned. It hadn’t taken long for his good mood to fade, his smile vanishing. He hadn’t seen what she’d said, had a feeling that he was about to find out though. And that it was linked in with what he’d been asked a few moments ago by journalists. “I didn’t. Did she take the loss badly?”
“Yeah,” Pete said trying to sound offhand. “She didn’t sound impressed. She said you went out to humiliate her. Think the words arrogant, condescending and cheat were all mentioned… Speaking of, where the fuck did you get that ghost from?!”
“I was just wondering that,” Matt said. “I’ve never seen you with it before. And I did my research. I wanted to be prepped in case I had to fight you. And I didn’t see no ghost.”
“Guys,” Scott said, breaking from Mia and holding his hands up. “You’re right. I didn’t own the ghost before this bout. Remember how I told you about my previous encounter with him?”