No powers.
Great.
“Sure. First blood? Whoever gives up first?”
“Till someone’s knocked out or taps out. Sure.” He ran his fingers through his beard and jogged with exaggerated enthusiasm around the end of the table. “How about right here? Give everyone a show?”
Scorio swept mana into his Heart. Copper flooded his cracked and pitted chunk of obsidian and immediately began to vent. He took his time walking down around the foot of the table so as to saturate his Heart completely and came to a stop before Sam. The other man was shorter than him, but powerfully built, and had the air of someone used to taking punishment with a grin.
There wasn’t much space between the two tables. Maneuvering would be tight. Naomi was watching intensely, Jova kicked back with her arms crossed.
“Show him how it’s done in Manticore,” someone yelled, amused.
Sam thumbed the side of his nose and hunched over. A second later his Heart blazed fiercely to life, the burst of energy washing over Scorio. “Ready when you are, sweetheart.”
Scorio didn’t Ignite right away. This wasn’t his first scrap by a mile. He’d trained for countless months under Feng, but then again, so would have Sam. What he had, though, was his weeks fighting the Nightmare Lady, and his complete disregard for pain and death due to endless runs in the Old Gauntlet.
Sam began to edge toward him with a sideways crab-like shuffle, feet never quite leaving the ground, his grin a permanent fixture. He reached out as he came, trying to grasp Scorio’s wrist.
A grappler, then. He’d want to pull Scorio in, trip him, then wear him down or force him to submit with a choke.
Not Scorio’s style.
Dameon had no doubt set Sam up for this. Which meant the Tomb Spark could probably burn mana for a long time. Was tough and durable. He’d try to wait out Scorio’s own Heart, then crush him.
Scorio straightened. “Mind if I wet my throat?”
Sam raised an eyebrow, thrown off as Scorio took up his mug and took a sip. The ale was good.
“If yer done refreshing yourself—”
Scorio tossed the ale in Sam’s face, Ignited, and piled in right after.
Sam reared back in shock, immediately went to wipe the beer from his eyes, and missed the kick that took him right in the gut.
It was like kicking a bag full of rocks.
Sam grunted, reacting with admirable swiftness by backing up and raising his guard, desperately trying to blink the beer away.
Scorio didn’t give him the chance. He followed the kick with a flying knee, slamming it through the other Tomb Spark’s forearms and landing a glancing blow.
Sam staggered back once more, right to where Scorio wanted him. Heart pumping him full of strength and irrepressible vitality, Scorio darted in and low to hammer a tight roundhouse into Sam’s gut once more.
Sam grunted and tried a return punch of his own, but Scorio surged to standing, hitting him square in the chin with an uppercut, then looped his arm around the back of Sam’s neck and dropped.
Slamming Sam’s face into the edge of the table, shattering the plank as he drove the man’s brow clean through the wood and down to the ground.
The blow was as brutal as it was vicious.
But still, Scorio didn’t relax. He scrambled away, leaped to his feet, and was about to move into stomping when Dameon raised both hands.
“Whoa! Easy there, killer. I think this fight’s over.”
Scorio immediately released his Heart and stepped back.
Sam was on all fours, blinking at his fingertips where he’d wiped away beer and blood. The fact that he was still conscious was damn impressive.
“Well, all right!” Leonis punched his fist into the air. “That’s how it’s done!”
Naomi’s eyes burned in bright approval.
Jova snorted and leaned forward to take up a wedge of cheese.
The local Manticores were taken aback. Some were scowling. The muscular blonde rose to her feet, wiping her lips with a coarse napkin as she did. “Now. That was far too short a fight. Scorio didn’t even break a sweat. How about it? You can throw all the beer you want at me. Don’t think it’ll help?”
“No shame in backing down from a Flame Vault,” said Dameon, sitting back indolently. “Especially when it’s Crush offering to step in the ring.”
“Crush?” Naomi sounded offended. “Seriously? Her name’s ‘Crush’?”
Crush winked at Naomi. “It’s what I do. What do you say, Scorio? You can take a seat if you like. You technically won that fight, after all.”
“There are no technical victories,” he replied. “There’s winning and there’s losing. I won.”
“Sit down,” called another man. “We’ve got your measure. You’re a sneak. Got it.”
Scorio studied Crush. She was his height, a little broader around the shoulders, veins prominent on the back of her hands. Flecks of rose paint remained on her closely cut nails. But she was no mindless brute. She moved with panther-like control, graceful and poised. And in her brown eyes? Amusement, derision, and a complete and utter lack of fear.
Scorio began gathering mana. “What’s losing to you going to prove?”
Crush raised an eyebrow. “Nothing. You should probably show a little wisdom and sit down like a good little Tomb Spark.
“Damn it,” whispered Lianshi.
Scorio sneered. “Let’s go.”
Crush grinned and reached behind her head to redo her ponytail, her robe falling open to reveal thick pectoral muscles beneath her underrobe and bulging deltoids. “So there’s some fight in you after all. Let’s see how long it takes to beat it out of you.”
And with that, she palmed the tabletop and vaulted over.
Chapter 35
What should he do? Scorio backed away a few steps. The ground was damp with spilt ale, uneven from the rough flagstones. He couldn’t dance around her. No room. The tables pressed in both sides. He could retreat a few yards but then he’d be up against the end table.
She could outlast his Heart. She could probably take whatever punches he threw. Perhaps he was faster? This wasn’t about winning, it was about losing as best as possible.
But how?
“Don’t hurt him too badly, Crush,” said Sam, making his way back to his seat. “Actually, I take that back. Hurt him plenty.”
“Now, now,” said Dameon complacently. “He’s a new recruit. Don’t forget.”
“I won’t.” Crush made a show of limbering up, though Scorio knew she didn’t need to. By Dread Blaze her body was permanently warmed up. She was just drawing out the moment, rolling her head about her neck, swinging her arms back and forth and keeping a weather eye on him for any surprises.
He couldn’t throw something at her. That trick wouldn’t work twice. Leap onto a table and then onto—no. She’d snatch him out of the air and dump him headfirst onto the floor.
Speed, then. Save his Heart for when he really needed it.
“Any day now,” she smiled.
Scorio brought his breathing under control. Relaxed his shoulders, loosened up, and approached.
Hands raised, three-quarters profile, light on his feet, he drew closer but Crush made no move to react.
Just stood there, watching him, expression neutral.
Showing off, basically.
Well, he’d make the most of it.
Timing it just right, he lunged forward, Igniting his Heart at the last second to infuse his blow with all the power he could muster. He swiveled from the hips, putting his entire body’s strength behind the punch, coming in low, shoulders hunched against an expected counter-attack, and slammed his knuckles as hard as he could into her stomach.
It was like punching cobblestones covered in a thin layer of felt.
Pain lanced through his wrist. He leaped back, panicked, and shook out his hand, surprised that she’d not taken advantage of his shock.