Galactic Champion

by Dante King

  So Reaver was the superpowered human Yaltu had heard about.

  “They did something to me too,” I said as I gently drew her closer. She didn’t resist. “I’m faster, stronger, and, so far, it looks like I’m almost immune to injury. That’s how I beat the dragon.”

  “What about Madomar? I only heard about that yesterday. Seems you’re becoming quite famous, too.”

  “Ebon helped me overthrow the ruler of Madomar,” I said.

  “Who’s Ebon?”

  “Not a who—a what. It’s my sword. I left it behind so that I wouldn't draw so much attention. So much for that, huh?”

  Reaver shrugged. “Nah. If they caught you with a sword, they would’ve taken it from you. No way they’d let you compete with it.” She lifted her hands and ran her fingers through the short beard I’d barely noticed on my face. “You’ve changed. Should I still call you Paladin?”

  I swallowed a lump in my throat, and she continued to inspect my beard, gently brushing the skin on my face and neck with the tips of her fingernails.

  “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” she asked.

  “There were two women, yes.”

  “Well, I’ll still call you Paladin. After all, I was your first is a long while.” Reaver moved to my hair, then the back of my neck.

  I looked up toward the gate the guard had been peeking through earlier, but he wasn’t there. Reaver turned my head down toward her wide eyes.

  “Nevermind the guard,” she whispered. “They wouldn’t intervene even if they thought you were murdering me. Also, they’re on rotation. They just dropped us off, so it’ll be time for them to eat about now.” She turned her eyes back to my chin. “I like the new look. It makes you look rugged. Not so tight-suit, boring, clinical, and corporate.”

  “I looked corporate?” I asked

  Reaver laughed and put a finger over my mouth again.

  Her hands continued to explore my body. She started with my neck, then moved down to my shoulders, and, finally, to my chest. She reached both of her hands under my shirt and pressed into me as she caressed my stomach, chest, and back. I had to hold my breath to keep from gasping.

  “I think your muscles are bigger,” she said. “Not that you were ever a slouch.”

  I offered a half-hearted laugh. “The Lakunae told me to collect their artifacts,” I said, trying to keep things professional. “They said—”

  Reaver cut me off with a sudden kiss that stopped my sentence short. I lost myself in her mouth for a moment, until she pulled away and leaned in close to my ear.

  “I’ve missed you,” Reaver whispered. “They’re going to have us fighting something big and ugly in a while. These may be our last moments alive.”

  A question formed in my mind. Something to do with asking how bad our opponent could be, but when I touched her firm breasts, felt her hand slip into my pants and her fingers gently grasp my manhood, I forgot what it was. But if she was right, it was exactly the way I wanted to spend the rest of my life.

  Reaver raked the nails of her other hand over my chest, bringing soft waves of pleasure in their wake. She moved slow, but I could sense her urgency. I reached to her pants but found them impossible to get my hands under.

  “Here,” she said. “Weird alien strap design. Let me.”

  She worked my cock while she unstrapped her pants. A few seconds later, her pants fell to the floor, and I stepped out of mine.

  Reaver was breathing hard, almost gasping as she wrapped her arms around my neck and used her legs to climb me. I grabbed her ass with both hands.

  This was her idea, her time, and her mission. All I had to do was hold on as she rode me against the wall and filled the cell with deep, needy gasps.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  “Brutal,” I said as the latest fight ended. “Do they always end up with their intestines scattered all over the arena?”

  Reaver laughed. “Those weren’t its intestines. Those were its lungs. But yeah, that’s how it usually ends.”

  The hologram projector showed the arena match from within our pen. We’d watched a few fights after we’d woken in the morning.

  “The best fights, at least those the spectators cheer the loudest for, are the ones most evenly matched,” Reaver explained. “You’ll see a lot where you have two aliens of the same species fight against each other. Sometimes, though, they’re from the same brood or family and won’t fight. The slavers do their best not to allow it to happen, but one never knows where one gets their latest gladiator from.”

  “What happens then?” I asked.

  “If they won’t fight, the organizers or the king might make them team up and fight something big enough to kill both of them. It still makes for a good show, but the real reason they do it is to warn other gladiators against going easy on their opponents. The people paid for blood or, in some cases, bug goo.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Oh, yeah, I’ve seen the bug goo. I had to take a bath to get it all off.”

  Her laughed tapered off as the victors were led out of the arena. The hologram projector shifted to the face of the announcer, Siddith. Reaver had explained that his species was able to reproduce just about any sound conceivable and was therefore the natural selection for announcers, especially at the arena. They didn’t use their mouth, though, except as a megaphone, to project the sounds they made in a particular direction.

  Reaver had also explained that the sounds were created by the big bony structure under the four-eyed alien’s forehead. They had hundreds of bones and thousands of muscles they could use to cause the vibrations they turned into speech. When a popular gladiator won, their “voice” could sound excited and triumphant, drawing the crowd into hand-holding, dancing, orgasmic celebrations. When the popular gladiator died, the mournful, angry sounds this species produced would send them into a tizzy of weeping and anger.

  “Are you worried?” I asked.

  Reaver shrugged. “I’m always worried. There are hundreds, maybe thousands, of alien species on this planet. I’ve fought a dozen or so. Each one is different, and each one brings their own strengths. The worst part is not knowing what kind of aliens I’m expected to fight. I go into every battle blind.”

  I understood her concern but not her behavior. I’d trained her to expect the unexpected. Every battle, even those against other humans, was one big unknown. Her training—our training—had taught us that. Even when we had a rock-solid plan, one we’d worked on for months, it always changed once the battle started. She was holding something back, though I wasn’t sure what it was. I had an idea, so I asked.

  “What exactly did the Lakunae do to you?”

  “Probably the same thing they did to you,” she said. “It was weird. It hurt, but the pain… it was more metaphysical than actual, real pain. It felt like I was being taken apart, molecule by molecule, changed, and then, put back to together. When I woke up, I’d crashed into the planet.”

  Her mouth worked but no words came out, so I waited.

  “At first, I thought it was something my mind did with those damned drugs they insist in injecting us with, you know?” she said.

  “Yeah, I know,” I said with a nod. “It sounds like we had the same experience. They didn’t blather on and on about their artifacts and what they wanted you to do with them?”

  “No. They just said I’d be useful.”

  “So, what can you do?” I asked.

  “I throw things, mostly,” she said with a sigh. “That’s why this pen is so clean. If they leave even a pebble behind, you can bet I’ll put it through someone’s eye. When I was first captured, I killed three guards with a spoon they forgot in my cell. I would’ve killed four, but I threw it at the last guard. It went right in his eye, stuck out the back of his ugly head, and pinned him to the stone wall, too far away for me to reach it.”

  “Before you were a dangerous killer with anything bladed or that could shoot,” I said. “Now you’re practically lethal with anyone.”


  “So, what can you do, big boy?” she asked, a sly smile spreading across her face. “Except for me, of course.”

  I returned her smile and quickly took her in my arms. I lifted her so she was almost touching the bars that closed us off from the guards above. I took her in one hand, then put her in my palm, before shifting her over until I was holding her up with only a finger.

  “You got strong,” Reaver said as she dropped to the ground. “Is that all?”

  “Heh, you’ll see exactly how strong if we enter the arena.”

  “Against each other?”

  My stomach coiled. I hadn’t thought of that. Was this the guards’ sick way of torturing us? Allow Reaver and I to unite, only to fight each other to the death in the arena?

  Well, that wasn’t going to happen. I was probably stronger than anyone they could try to stop us. As soon as we had an opportunity, I was breaking us both out.

  Reaver slumped against the wall, and I joined her. The guards stared down at us from above, and I clenched my fist opened and closed. It would feel good to kill them for enslaving Reaver.

  She picked a piece of rubber from her shoe and flung it at a guard. It bounced off his forehead, but I doubted it didn’t anything except sting a little.

  “What was that?” he yelled. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Trying to give you human-germs you fuck!” Reaver sneered. “You ever heard of… cooties? It’s a horrible disease, and you don’t want it; trust me.”

  “I don’t trust you, human,” the guard said. “I trust your germs even less. Sit in your filth and die of the cooties.” With a huff, he turned and marched away from the opening.

  I almost laughed. Reaver did laugh but covered it up well enough by pretending her giggles and snorts were coughs and wheezing.

  “Well done,” I whispered.

  It was good to be reunited with her. Whatever happened, I’d ensure I never had to fight against her.

  The next match was over almost before it started. It featured a big alien that resembled a centaur, if centaurs were green, almost 12 feet tall, and with their bottom half being a spider instead of a horse.

  The spider-thing tore off one of its own legs the second it entered the arena and threw it like a spear. The other alien, some kind of multi-armed creature, dodged—almost. The spider’s still-twitching makeshift spear pierced the other alien’s shoulder and threw it back. The spider-alien was on its opponent in an instant, beating with two-knuckle giant fists until the other alien was no more than a quivering pile of green-blooded mush.

  There was only one spot for the clean-up crew to pay attention to. They scraped up the gooey dirt, replaced it from wheelbarrow-like contraptions, and left the arena.

  The crowd didn’t make a sound, so I figured they were shocked at the speed of the match. Apparently, they enjoyed a good fight, and quick ones weren’t good.

  “Wow, that was quite a match,” Siddith said through several rusty speakers located near the edges of the arena. “But the next fight is going to be a real treat! You’ve seen her once. You’ve seen her twice. You’ve seen her slice and dice! It’s Beatrix the Bloody! And her lovely team, the Execution Squad!”

  A cheer erupted from the crowd, loud enough to make the cell walls shake. It was so loud, I could barely hear the announcer relaying the fighter’s stats. He said something about the many wins, zero losses, and I was pretty sure he mentioned tomatoes.

  The hologram in the center of our pen began to show Beatrix fighting, smashing, and killing her opponents. There was blood, then more blood, then body parts flying in all directions. She looked experienced and fast. The hologram seemed to grow and shrink as if whoever filmed her had been drunk, or the camera was swinging in and out like a pendulum.

  My face flickered up on the screen beside Reaver’s. I couldn’t tell whether it meant we would be fighting each other, or whether we would go against Beatrix and the Execution Squad together.

  Either way, we were about to go to war.

  Reaver breathed a sigh of relief. “Looks like we’re not fighting each other,” she said.

  All the muscles in my body relaxed, and I couldn’t help but smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “If we win this match, and the next few dozen, maybe they’ll let us go free,” she said. “They did say they would free me if I won a hundred battles. Didn’t give a number, though.”

  “You’re going to be free today, no matter what. It’s why I’m here. Let’s whoop this Beatrix’s ass and figure out a way to escape.”

  Reaver met my gaze with a shrug. “I’m right behind you, Paladin.”

  “Do you trust me?” I asked.

  “I do,” she said.

  “Then, trust that you will be free today.”

  I stretched as well, not because I thought I needed to but to show solidarity with my partner. “What are the rules?” I asked.

  “The fights are usually to the death. If one opponent wants to offer mercy, the king has to authorize it. But if he wants the loser to die, he’ll order it. Then, mercy is revoked, and the loser dies. Simple as that.”

  “Are you ready for the Queen of Carnage?” Siddith asked the crowd. The response was even louder than before.

  Reaver cracked her knuckles. “I didn’t tell you this before, but this battle will be different. It’s a big-ticket match.”

  “Which means?” I asked.

  “Watch out for weapons. The crowd buys stuff from vendors in the city. They’re allowed to throw the weapons in. Sometimes, the weapons are useful. Sometimes, they’re just as dangerous for the one using it as they are for the opponent. And sometimes, I think they throw the weapons at us rather than to us. Just keep your eyes open. It’s always better to have something than nothing.”

  “I’ll be careful,” I said.

  “Beatrix is one of the big hitters,” Reaver quickly explained. “So am I. But she’ll have help. The Execution Squad are a team of wafnugu. They’re small, but they communicate telepathically. Just when you think you’ve got one cornered, you’ll realize it’s a trap. Then, it could be too late. Watch your back and show no mercy.”

  As she finished, the entire cell shifted underneath our feet.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  The side of the cell snapped open like a reverse mousetrap, and the floor beneath my feet tilted 45 degrees to dump us into the arena.

  Reaver coiled her legs into a crouch and slid over the floor until the last second. Then she launched herself into the air. It took me a moment to orient myself and get an understanding of our battleground.

  The arena was large—about the size of a Terran football field. The inside was concave like a spoon, and though there was dirt, I could see large spots where stone showed through. I couldn’t tell if it was some type of concrete, or the actual bedrock in the area. Flagpoles and stadium seating surrounded the field, as did a yellowish haze that wavered and distorted everything behind it, like air rising in a hot desert.

  We were boxed in by a forcefield.

  Small, spherical orbs flitted about overhead. There were at least a dozen, and each were about the same size, no larger than my head. They screamed past me, and I noticed small fan blades on thin outriggers.

  Ahead of us, Beatrix the Bloody and her Execution Squad were already closing in.

  “I’ve got the leader!” I shouted to Reaver. “You take the others!”

  “Oorah!” she shouted back.

  Reaver moved with absolute confidence, even in the face of potential death. She peeled off to the left to take on three small creatures who only reached my waist. They were bald and leathery with small horns protruding from their spine, elbows, knees, and ankles. The creatures ran on all fours, and thick strings of saliva hung from their mouths like the tentacles of a jellyfish.

  Our enemy didn’t stand a chance.

  “You handle Beatrix,” Reaver said. “I’ll handle the Squad.”

  “Got it,” I said as I locked onto the p
osition of my opponent.

  Beatrix was about my height, had an olive complexion, and hair tied in thick braids. She was armored in segmented platemail covering all the important spots while leaving enough visible to encourage every male’s imagination.

  No wonder she was popular.

  As Beatrix and I drew nearer to each other, her armor changed. Pieces snapped to attention, making her look like a sea urchin. She leaned in to her sprint, crossed her arms in front of her ample bosom, and unfolded short spikes from her forearms. It was obvious she meant to crash into me, impaling me with the pointy-bits, but I jumped to avoid her.

  As I rose into the air, I studied her armor. Reaver had said that the spectators would occasionally throw weapons to their favorite fighters. It seemed that Beatrix had turned hers into armor, without sacrificing their potential as offensive weapons.

  Brazud obviously took care of its star gladiators.

  I landed on my feet, a few away from Beatrix, her back to me. My vision became filled with something I didn’t understand. Beatrix’s hair wasn’t hair at all. It was a nest of tentacles. She spun, and the tentacles landed toward me. They came too fast even more me, wrapping around my torso and ensnaring me. The tentacles carried me into the air and slammed me into the ground.

  Breath ejected from my lungs, and I even felt a little pain.

  Well, it seemed I could be hurt. I’d just met my match.

  I lifted my arms, tensed my muscles, and tore free of the tentacles. They kept shooting toward me, but I managed to outpace them. Next time they got hold of me, Beatrix might bring me closer to her and cut me to pieces with her spiked armor. There were enough blades to turn the average person into ground beef. The more her opponent struggled, the worse they’d make it for themselves. From the look in her eyes, it was exactly what she was planning to do.

  Tentacles sprang toward me again, but I lifted my arms in a sweeping motion and captured them all in my hands. The look in her eyes drifted from determination to confusion before I yanked on her hair with all of my strength. Her head slammed into the ground, and her tentacle-hair went limp. The impact would have killed most other people, but there was more to Beatrix than met the eye—even though there was a lot to see.