He drove an uppercut into her body, focusing his Twin Damage into a single blow. She staggered back, eyes wide, afraid. She was on defense now. He took the offense. Dodging the staff, once, twice, three times, he got in close. He struck her fist, reinforcing his hand with his dwindling prana so his knuckles didn’t shatter against her Second Study.
She shifted her weight backward, to try and escape. He couldn’t let that happen. He shoved her against the ice cage and hit her again.
She drove the tip of her staff into his chest, he was rocked back, and she hurled herself forward. She struck again and again, driving him around until he was trapped between her staff and the ice. He feinted left, and she struck, but her staff crashed against the frozen bars, spraying him with pieces of the cold cage. He ducked again. The staff screamed over his head.
He kicked her legs out from under her. His kick wasn’t enhanced, so it was like bashing his leg against a block of solid iron, and yet, she was on her knees.
She brought her weapon up to protect her.
Niko brushed her weapon aside, and he heard his left arm crack. He might not have snapped his bones in half, but he knew he’d fractured something.
The stadium was noise personified. It was hard to think, from the cacophony, from the pain, from his desire to win.
He reached back, twisting his body, and then, using the last of his prana, he reinforced his fist. He struck her face, and she was sent sprawling. Her staff vanished.
He couldn’t look at her prana levels, nor her sharira. He didn’t need to—her nose wasn’t broken, she wasn’t bleeding, and that glare, that same glare she always gave him, was in her eyes. There wasn’t fear there. There was only hate.
Niko didn’t use his First Study, but he did channel prana into his knuckles and they glowed orange.
He gripped her robe and hit her, again and again, until her Second Study failed her, and then he felt her nose become flesh. He didn’t stop though he’d lost his own prana. It was flesh on flesh.
The ice bars vanished, and the Arena Master pulled him off her.
Marjory’s nose dripped blood down her lips. She was laughing, howling laughter, and Niko didn’t know why.
Sometimes in a fight, emotions went wild.
He let himself be pulled back.
Marjory had iron in her. She stood, barely, her sharira at two percent. Niko wasn’t much better. He was down to twelve percent. Both had zero prana.
“Niko Black wins!” the Arena Master called out. “Arena disengaged. Artists to their corners.”
Marjory limped back to her corner and stood there, still laughing.
Niko went to his corner. The adrenaline left him shaky. Thinking was impossible. He followed his instincts. He went and knelt, left hand in his right palm, breathing hard. His heart thundered in his ears.
“He cheated!” Marjory said, guffawing more. “He’s a Mars Belt. He used his Second Study. He cheated. I might not have won, but I didn’t lose.”
Niko didn’t respond. He lowered his head, humbly. The Pranad was clear. A Battle Artist is humble in victory and proud in defeat.
Like before, however, the victory felt hollow. How could he go back to his critique group when he hadn’t been honest with them? How could he look them in the eye?
The Offer
NIKO WAS PULLED OFF to the side, and both his prana and sharira were adjusted by an Arena Assistant. By the time the old woman was done, his hand wasn’t so swollen, and all of his bones—leg, arm, ribs—felt solid again. He was glad to see Marjory, on the other side, getting similar treatment. Her face wouldn’t even be bruised once she was healed.
The crowd in the stadium was milling about, buying concessions, and getting ready for the main event. Night had fallen, the lights were on, and the air smelled good from the popcorn, nachos, and hot dogs. Teddy came down to the railing to yell congratulations. Niko waved to his friend and to his family, up in the stands. Mamo and Tato waved back. Pete and his dirtbag friends were gone.
Niko walked down through the concrete tunnel, on his way to the locker rooms. Barton stopped him. The agent hadn’t come alone. Andrew J. Coffey stood next to him. Both men were grinning.
Niko hadn’t expected the smiles. He approached them. He knew he smelled terrible, and he was tired, worn out from the fighting. However, you didn’t walk away from industry professionals, not when they were smiling at you after a victory.
Barton’s eyes were cool on him as he lost the grin.
Andrew also sobered.
Uh oh.
“Well, Niko Black,” Barton said. “I had no idea how much of a pain in the ass you’d be.”
Niko felt the stab of fear.
“Hey, Niko.” Andrew nodded at him.
“Hey.” Then back to the agent. “How am I a pain in the ass? I won. I get to stay in the critique group, right? That was the deal.”
Barton was as easy as ever. “Yes, you can stay. I won’t go back on the agreement. But after your little trick, I don’t know what I’m going to do with Marjory.”
Niko frowned. “What do you mean my little trick?”
Andrew stepped in. “You went in there in training robes, no Mars Belt. You pulled out your Second Study, which she wasn’t expecting. You know, Arena Masters are getting more and more strict on belts, Studies, and the truth. You didn’t sign an insurance release for either MudCon or this, did you?”
“I signed something. It didn’t require my Battle Artist information, only a bio. I used my old one.” Niko felt his face heat up. “So, yes, it was a trick, but what choice did I have? I had no advantage going up against Marjory.” He wanted to add that Barton knew it. Andrew had gotten him into the critique group, but other than Henry and Seo-yun, no one wanted him there.
Andrew shook his head. “You can’t rely on tricks to win. You have to focus on your technique, your craft, because that’s the only thing that matters, and it’s the only thing you can control. Sure, you have a win, and yes, you even did your humble little bow thing at the end, which the crowd ate up. The theatrics are only going to get you so far.”
“That’s right.” Barton shook his head. “In the LBA, even the most insignificant matches require a full Artistry history. We still use apothecaries for pre-fight checks. Any kind of trick would’ve failed if you were in the big leagues.”
Footsteps echoed through the concrete tunnel. A woman walked toward them. She was coming from the field. That should be closed, so Niko figured she was with the BCBA, but she wasn’t in Artist robes. She wore a big, colorful dress, with lots of red flowers, the scarlet striking against her dark skin. She looked Māori, or a South Pacific islander. White flecked her hair. She had a wide face, a prominent nose, and deep laugh lines, or in her case, frown lines.
She glanced at Andrew, who took a step back, his face red. His eyes were on the ground. Okay, it was clear this woman and Andrew knew each other.
“Hey, Andrew,” she said.
The Battle Artist lifted his head and nodded at her. But he didn’t quite look at her. “Hello, Danette.”
“We’re talking here,” Barton said, “with Niko. He can sign autographs for you when we’re finished. If you don’t mind.”
Normally, that would be the end of it. Anyone in the Battle Artists industry would’ve turned and walked back down the tunnel—when a famous agent ordered you away, you went.
The woman reached out with a big, rough hand. “Hi, Niko. I’m Danette Parata. A mutual friend suggested I come and talk to you. I run a special critique group in South Valley, and I’m wondering if you’d like to join.”
Barton cocked his head. He puffed his chest out a little. “Niko already has a critique group. He won tonight. He’s safe for now.”
“Safe.” Danette nodded. “Safe from what?”
Andrew was keeping quiet, a little pale, against the wall. This was something strange. This whole encounter was strange.
Barton showed his palms and shrugged. “Maybe safe is the wrong word. Or rat
her, he’s not in any danger of getting kicked out. If he keeps winning, and if he continues to perfect his technique, I’ll rep him eventually. He’s on a definite path.”
Niko tried to get excited. Yet, his stomach remained sour.
Did Barton tell everyone in the Premiers Critique Group that?
Danette stood, tall and straight, hands at her sides. She loomed over Barton. “How many years is that going to take? Timothy Cooper’s been hanging on for five years, right? And he didn’t get his shot tonight.”
Barton looked up at her with narrowed eyes. “And who are you? I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Barton Hennessey, but you know that. You said something about running a critique group?”
Danette shook his hand. “I’m Danette Parata. I’ve been fighting under the name Danni Dragon, in little cons, mostly down south, in Monterrey City and Carmel City, on the California coast. You wouldn’t have heard of me. Not yet.”
“Not yet.” Barton had his hands on his hips. “So, tell us about your critique group. Who knows, I might be able to send some people your way.”
Danette answered immediately. “We’re Unrepresented, and we mean to stay that way. We’re interested in Harmonic and Discordant Studies. And we want to win. I for one might not have five years to wait. No one knows how much time they have left.”
That one word, Unrepresented, struck like a blow. Harmonic and Discordant Studies were also controversial topics. Why had Andrew gone silent?
Barton crossed his arms, a smirk on his face. “So, in your little critique group, you’re looking to field a team in a Division Four qualifying region? Which is why you are fighting mid-coast. It’s easier competition.”
“I wouldn’t say easy,” Danette said. “And my critique group is little. For now. We’re experimenting with various styles and Studies. A lot of people aren’t interested in that. I heard Niko might be. But if he’s happy in his current critique group, well, I would wish him well.” She laughed. “What am I saying? He’s here. I’m talking like he’s not here. What do you think, Niko? We don’t see cusps as being handicapped. Actually, being a cusp is a unique opportunity to cross train.”
Before Niko could answer, Barton had a question of his own. “Do you know this woman, Andrew?”
Coffey had to clear his throat. “Yeah, we knew each other, ten years ago, probably. She was a Battle Artist, I met her at some event, but she wasn’t serious. Apparently that’s changed.”
“Yeah, seems like she’s very serious,” Barton agreed. “Well, Niko, what do you think? It seems you have a choice. I’m offering you the traditional deal, and this woman thinks you can make it Unrepresented, which is highly unlikely, but a valid choice these days.”
“Highly unlikely, hard work, and not a lot of respect,” Andrew said. “How big is the SoulFire marketing team working on me and other Artists you rep?”
Barton answered with, “SoulFire has twenty-five thousand employees. Of course, not all of them work on promoting Battle Artists, but many do. Book deals, movie deals, and a stupid amount of connections with the LBA. As you know, over eighty-five percent of wins in the LBA come from Division One Battle Artists.”
Danette nodded. “He’s right, Niko. If you can get to the top, you can win, and the big corporations will throw marketing dollars your way. That opens you up to contracts for everything from TV shows to commercial deals. That’s LJ Crown levels of money. But how many Battle Artists get hurt, or quit, or don’t get the TV shows or the commercial deals?” She held up a hand. “Don’t answer. That was a rhetorical question. Do you guys have a piece of paper and a pen?”
Barton laughed, dug into his coat pocket, and took out a little book and pen. He ripped out a page and handed it to Danette.
She scribbled down her name and her email address. “You’re young, Niko, and you’re talented. Obviously, you can go the traditional route, fight for a corporation, and make a name there. That is a choice. I’m offering you something different. And Andrew, it wasn’t ten, it was fifteen years ago. But you were close. I’ve always been serious about the Arts. More serious than you can ever imagine.”
She handed Niko the paper. She shook his hand again. “If you’re interested, email me. If not, I understand. You’re in a place where few people will ever be, and you’re working with top people in the industry. Or should I say, working for them? Yes, I think that is more accurate.”
She turned and gave both Barton and Andrew a long, scathing look. “As long as the people in power don’t abuse that power, working for them might be okay.
“Gentlemen.” She nodded at the men and walked back up the tunnel to the stadium.
Barton sighed. “It’s not that the Unrepresented aren’t good Artists—I’ve seen some with incredible technique. It’s just that most of them seem to have a chip on their shoulders. It’s as if they like flaunting the fact they’re Unrepresented. As if that makes them better.”
Niko thought of The Pranad. Those with great power wear it like a cloak on a warm day. They do not need it and will give it up gladly. Those with only a little power cling to it as a dying man clings to the very last of his medicine, or a warrior on a battlefield clings to his sword when his foes are many and his defeat assured.
A mutual friend told Danette about Niko. Could that be Seo-yun? She was a cusp, or had been, until Barton had given her an ultimatum, disguised as friendly advice from the critique group. Teddy or Maddy were the more probable culprits.
“Well, Niko, did we lose you to the Unrepresented?” Barton asked. Andrew was quiet again. Seeing Danette had clearly affected him somehow.
Niko raised a hand, massaged his temples with two fingers and a thumb, and then exhaled. “No, Mr. Hennessey, I’ll be there Wednesday. Not sure what I’m going to say to everyone. Especially Marjory.”
Barton waved that away. “After what you did, I don’t have a choice but to rep Nance Iron. She’ll be thrilled. It’ll be an easy deal. Anvil Incorporated has a spot for a Metallurgy. If she can win, I might get a deal for her at SoulFire, for more money. If she can’t, well, at least she got her shot. Most people never do.”
And that was the truth. Most Artists would fight without representation, lose, and then quit after a while.
Niko felt better. Timothy might get pissed that Marjory got representation and he didn’t, but that wasn’t Niko’s problem. “Thanks, Mr. Hennessey. That will make it far easier on me. And things shouldn’t be so tense, now that this fight is over.”
Barton laughed and clapped Niko on the back. “Are you kidding me? Matthew Gregory and I have already talked. We’re going to do something like this in September. I’m sure we’ll come up with something equally dramatic in three months. Maybe I’ll even have some kind of fight between traditional Artists and the Unrepresented.”
Niko left them, still feeling Barton’s slap on his skin.
Niko wanted to be excited. Not only had he won and confirmed his spot in the Premiers Critique Group, but now other groups wanted him to join. It wasn’t like a bidding war among the corporations, but The Pranad said to taste the sweet in every victory, no matter how small, and disregard the bitter in every defeat, no matter how big.
What about victories that tasted bitter? Or losses that felt like winning? He’d had both recently.
All he knew for sure was that Tato had been so proud of his son. Mamo might sigh and worry about the business, but his father was there to cheer him on.
As was Teddy.
The two had Happy Noodles that night. The pair had a lot to talk about.
The Noodles
NIKO AND TEDDY SAT at one of the three tables on the small balcony on the second story of the Happy Noodle. It was just the two of them. The night’s wet mist was cool, but they both wore hoodies. Living in Bay City, you always carried around an extra layer.
Other late-night patrons ate inside; there was a good crowd, on Saturday night, just past midnight.
Niko went for the Chicken Thai Noodles, in a sweet sauce, with th
e slight sour bite of long strips of green papaya. Teddy did the Zhao Big Bowl, which had a little bit of everything—shrimp, pork, chicken, and beef, all drenched in spicy grease.
Niko told him all about Danette Parata’s offer. Teddy wasn’t the mutual friend she’d mentioned.
Teddy had his phone out. “Okay, I’m seeing her So-Me page, a lot of action, and a lot of likes. She’s a bigger deal in the mid-coast cities, and her page is relatively new. As for you, my special guy, you have fifty new likes, and people are commenting left and right. They remembered you from MudCon, and they loved that you used your Second Study to win. Yes, it was a trick, some people are calling foul, but mostly it’s happy love for Niko Black.”
“I don’t like the name.” Niko used chopsticks to shovel in another mouthful of noodles and papaya. “And I don’t like you referring to me as your ‘special guy.’”
“Better get used to both,” Teddy said. “Niko Black just topped five hundred followers. I’ve heard of Artists surviving on those kinds of numbers. We should get you some merchandise, and we need to set you up with the financial package so you can get patrons. That’s the new thing. When they click on the ‘like’ they get a nag screen to donate money.”
“People will give me money to fight?” Niko asked. “I still don’t believe that. Andrew J. Coffey doesn’t survive on patrons, does he?”
“He doesn’t need to.” Teddy put his phone on the table so he could work his chopsticks with his right hand and scroll with his left. “Danette included her birthday. And yes, she does have the patron option. Should we give her a couple of bucks?”
“It feels like begging.” He wanted to be happy, he was eating Happy Noodles after all, but he couldn’t get there. “Do you think I cheated?”
“You won, hombre, and that’s the name of the game. And you gave the people what they want, an interesting fight. From the comments, they also like that you’re trying to make a comeback. You were big news five years ago.”
“What did you call me?” Niko asked. “Oh, yes, a minor local celebrity. I’m still minor, and I’m still local. My mom isn’t exactly thrilled that I’m fighting again.”
Sages of the Underpass Page 15