Sachi had a definite strut as she walked into the hole in the ground beneath the circle on which Drake stood. As she approached Valarn, Drake was able to size them up. Valarn had the edge on muscle, while Sachi had the edge on... everything else.
His huntress had served the lords before him for years and had likely been scouting on her own for far longer. Drake realized then he’d never actually seen Sachi fight, at least not hand-to-hand. He’d only seen the aftermath, and the aftermath had been very dead enemies.
A scrap, thankfully, wasn’t fought to the death, though sometimes combatants did die by accident or if they refused to yield. The fight was supposed to take place until one party yielded, lost consciousness (KO), or could no longer continue (TKO). So it wasn’t all that different from a boxing match, except ferals could use all the legs as well and also, their claws.
Given his flashy entrance into the ring, Drake expected Valarn—the champion of the Granite Pack—to taunt Sachi as she approached. Instead, the tall feral clasped his feet together, placed his arms at his sides, straightened his tail behind him, and performed a low and respectful bow. It didn’t look much different than a bow before a karate bout.
Sachi visibly cocked an eyebrow at the genuine display of respect. He heard the crowd go utterly silent as they wondered the same thing he did. Would Sachi return Valaran’s respect with her own, or throw his politeness in his face? What kind of a fighter was she?
Sachi entered the ring and returned the respectful half bow. The crowd cheered, but quietly, like they were watching golf. As Valarn dropped his tense posture and shook himself loose, bouncing on the balls of his feet, Drake revised his earlier estimation of the feral Sachi was going up against. Perhaps Valarn wasn’t just some cocky braggart after all.
That made him a little more worried about Sachi’s chances. The question was what he would do if she lost and refused to yield. If she yielded, her father would be executed, and while Sachi and her father seemed to be at odds, she doubted she wanted him dead.
So if she did lose, Drake would have a choice. If she was certain to die he could withdraw his support for her, force her to yield, and ensure her father was executed. Or, he could let her fight until the bitter end and lose her and her father.
That was not a choice he wanted to make... but life in this world was rough. If he refused to let Sachi fight for her family, she’d probably never forgive him. He suspected that if she was able to choose how she’d die, she’d choose to die fighting for what she wanted.
Elaran walked to the edge of his circle and gazed impassively down at the combatants. Drake surveyed their surroundings and realized the area all around them was now packed with ferals, with many more watched from the nearby trees. He was glad he hadn’t tried to rescue Kel and his people with his small army. This army of ferals, together, was much bigger.
“Valarn of the Granite Pack!” Elaran called. “Do you stand ready?”
Valarn nodded.
“Sachi of Gloomwood Manor! Did you stand ready?”
She widened her stance, revealed her claws, and hissed through bared teeth.
“May the Eidolons protect the champion who stands in the right,” Elaran said. “Begin!”
Drake expected the two fighters to circle, sizing each other up and feinting to size each other up. What he did not expect was for Sachi and Valarn to sprint forward and slash at each other like two snakes trying to bite the same target. They wasted no time mixing it up, snarling and yowling exactly like two cats mixing it up on the street.
Their movements... strike and counterstrikes and feints... occurred too fast for him to follow, but as they split apart as quickly as they’d come together, he saw the results of the opening bout. Sachi had a bright red furrow across her left arm, where blood matted both flesh and fur. Valarn had two wicked slashes down his chest, just now starting to bleed.
Only now did the two ferals circle, and while Valarn’s gaze remained steady and his jaw remained set, Drake caught the unease in his eyes. When he looked at Sachi, however, he found nothing but her feral grin and hungry gaze. She was confident she would win.
The two fighters clashed again and again as the crowd cheered uproariously, and each time, both came away increasingly bloody. Yet there was no doubt Valarn was getting the worst of it. He came away from their latest lightning-fast encounter limping badly with one arm hanging at his side. It was obviously broken. Bloody scratches marred his chest and face.
Sachi, sadly, was only a little better off. She was absolutely covered in blood, making it almost impossible to tell if she’d been cut or if another cut had simply bled all over her. Drake remembered some wisdom he’d once heard from one of his construction buddies about a knife fight... which was, basically, never get into one. Even if you won, you were going to get cut.
Valarn risked a quick glance at Elaran. He was obviously asking to tap out. His pack leader frowned and shook his head. Valarn wiped blood from his eyes with his one remaining arm, lowered his stance, and hissed... but his eyes said he knew he’d lost.
Sachi approached like the predator she was. She could have pressed her advantage at any time, and had only been waiting to see if Valarn would yield. Drake suspected he wanted to yield, badly... but he couldn’t defy Elaran. The Granite Pack leader remained a massive prick.
When Sachi lunged for Valarn, he reacted with a feint followed by a lightning-fast kick... which completely missed Sachi as she melted under it. Sachi took him to the ground with a snarl and raised one claw. As she savaged him, blood spattered them both.
“Yield!” a panicked feral called from behind Elaran. “Yield, Val!”
Elaran glared at the feral and stiff-armed her away from the edge of the pit, forcing her back into line. Meanwhile, Sachi stood, backed up, and spit blood... but not on Valarn, who was down and unmoving. She spit in the direction of Elaran, who glowered from above.
Valarn had been brutalized. If he wasn’t dead now, he would be in a few minutes. Nobody survived losing that much blood, but his death was on Elaran, not Sachi.
“Call it!” another feral yelled, not one of the Granite Pack. More quickly joined that chant. “Call it! Call it! Call it!”
Elaran raised a massive paw for silence. It came immediately.
“As Lord Mistvale’s prime, I withdraw my champion,” he bellowed. “I will prove these charges myself!”
Drake glanced angrily at Samuel. “Can he do that?
Samuel frowned.
“He can’t do that!”
“As the prime, he cannot substitute another champion once his champion has been bested,” Samuel said grimly. “But as the accuser, he can substitute himself.”
As several ferals finally sprinted into the ring to check on Valarn, their grim expressions said all he needed to know about the catman’s fate. Drake saw an opportunity to win the crowd to his side and, more importantly, something he simply wanted to do. He looked to Darion.
“Go to that downed catman. Bind all the flesh you can. If you can save him, do it.”
Darion nodded eagerly. “At once, Lord Gloomwood.”
As Darion hurried off the circle, several other ferals moved to intercept him. Drake stepped after him. “My thrall can seal Valarn’s wounds and may be able to save his life! As Lord Gloomwood, I offer his services! Make way! Let him work and Valarn may live!”
The ferals in Darion’s way cleared out at once. Several even looked visibly grateful for the gesture of goodwill. Meanwhile, Sachi simply glared up at Elaran, who didn’t have a scratch on him. She was limping visibly, covered in blood, and cut in more places than he could count.
Despite all that, Sachi looked more ready to tear Elaran apart... and probably could, even in this condition, though doing so might kill her. “Get down here, then!” Sachi bellowed. “I’ve got more than enough left for you!”
Elaran cracked his knuckles loudly enough that Drake heard it across the arena. “The Eidolons will judge the truth of this challenge.”
“This is bullshit!” Drake directed those words at the crowd. “Elaran knew he couldn’t beat Sachi in a scrap, so he forced his pack mate fight to soften her up!”
More than a few ferals looked his way sympathetically, but while a few half-hearted shouts started up, none survived. As they looked back to Elaran, his glower said it all.
Together, all of these disparate packs might be able to take on Elaran and his eighty-two—no, it was eighty-one now—packmates, but alone? They’d get torn apart. That was how the prime had ruled for so long. Unless the other ferals united, he would always rule.
“You’re a coward, Elaran!” Drake shouted. “Sachi won that scrap!”
Elaran smugly made his way down to the ring. “Your petty protestations do us all a disservice, Lord Gloomwood! Unless you wish to withdraw your champion, the scrap will continue until one of us yields.”
Drake looked to Sachi for guidance. What did she want him to do? As he grinned his way, covered in blood and barely keeping her feet, he knew exactly what she wanted. She was going to fight until Elaran killed her, and while she might be willing to die... there was no need.
He stripped off his silverweave tunic and tossed it aside. “Elaran! I challenge you!”
Lydia touched his now bare arm. “Are you sure?” The only reason she hadn’t physically restrained him was because they’d talked all this out beforehand. Or rather... he’d told them what he planned to do if it went bad, and they hadn’t talked him out of it.
“I am,” Drake said. “We’re done letting his asshole bully us.”
Elaran threw back his head and laughed. “You have no claws, Lord Gloomwood!”
“But I’m still the one who called you out on your bullshit, which means I can replace my champion with myself. Sachi? You’re out!”
Sachi hissed his way. Yet as she tried to move to stop him, she stumbled and fell to one knee. She pushed up despite her wounds. She was fading.
“Let’s go get her,” he ordered his battle maids.
As he descended to the pit with Lydia, Valentia, and Nicole all following close behind, Elaran crossed his arms across his massive chest and scowled. “I cannot strike the Lord of Gloomwood Manor. I will not be responsible for instigating a war.”
Drake continued to advance on the pit. “So you yield, then?”
“Your champion has not defeated me. My ruling stands until she does.”
Drake looked around at the gathered, silent, visibly anxious crowd. “So this is how your prime rules you? He sends his pack mates to fight and die in his place because he’s too much of a coward to face you himself? Is this who you want in command?”
“I will not place all packs in danger by earning the wrath of Lord Gloomwood!” Elaran shouted. “Abandon your grievance, or let your champion fight in your place!”
“You say you won’t fight me because you’re worried about starting a war? Fine! No matter what you do to me, I won’t start one!” He glanced at the line of zarovians standing on the circle. “As Lord Gloomwood, I compel you! If Elaran defeats me in this scrap, you will not go to war! No matter what happens to me in the pit, he remains blameless!”
He couldn’t actually compel anyone in his army to do shit, but Elaran didn’t know that. As he reached Sachi, Drake offered a hand to help her up. She took it and rose.
Given all the blood on her, Drake couldn’t tell if she was grinning or glaring at him. He handed her off to Lydia. She, Valentia, and Nicole all started running their healing gloves over the worst of Sachi’s wounds. It was a courtesy she accepted grudgingly.
“You won this scrap,” he reminded her quietly. “You kicked the shit out of Valarn. I’m just here to make sure this asshole doesn’t welch on his bet. Let me do that.”
“I can still defeat him,” Sachi insisted angrily.
“I know you can,” Drake assured her. “But after seeing what a tool he is, I want to kick his ass. Do me this one favor. Let me beat the shit out of him.”
“Fine,” Sachi said stiffly. “Finish the fight, but be quick about it.”
Drake looked to Lydia. “Get her stabilized until Darion can tend to her.”
As his battle maids led Sachi off, Drake glanced at where Valarn had fallen. Darion continued tending him, which suggested Valarn was still alive. Between Darion, Lydia, Valentia, and Nicole, he should have enough healers to save them both. He hoped.
Drake stepped into the pit and glared at Elaran. “What’ll it be, dipshit? Are we fighting, or are you going to hop off with your tail between your legs?”
Elaran bared some very intimidating teeth. “You are a fool.”
“And you’re afraid of me,” Drake reminded everyone now standing around the pit. “I already said I won’t go to war if you beat me. So come get some!”
“I accept your challenge,” Elaran rumbled. “We begin... now.”
The massive feral surged forward so quickly that Drake was certain he would have been ripped apart in a second... had he not simply raised his hand. That motion stopped Elaran in his tracks. The impact of Elaran’s bulk slamming into the massive and invisible palm stretched out in front of Drake sent him back a step, but he recovered.
As Elaran strained at the invisible force now restraining him—Gaby’s fullstop rarity, burnished by Drake’s ability to emulate it—he watched as the eyes of his enemy grew increasingly more alarmed. He’d taken Gaby’s rarity today because it was the best way to stop a horde of arrows from a party of ferals if they had to run... but it had other uses.
“What’s the matter?” Drake called. “Performance anxiety?”
“Lord Gloomwood uses a rarity!” a feral called from above. “That is not a scrap!”
“And almost letting Valarn to weaken Sachi is honorable?” Drake glared up at the ferals above. “Look at your downed pack mate! How many like you has this piece of shit sent to die so he can stay safe? He doesn’t care about you, Granite Pack! All he cares about is power!”
The whole time he spoke, Elaran continued to struggle against the force Drake exerted with one hand. “Release me!” Elaran demanded. “Fight with your claws!”
“I don’t have claws, remember?” Drake smiled at him. “Now sit down.”
He raised his other hand and pushed... downward. The second invisible palm pressed down on Elaran from above. The feral gasped as he strained against it, yet even his impressive strength was no match for Gaby’s burnished rarity. Drake forced him to his knees.
“Yield?” Drake shouted. “Or die?”
Several members of the Granite Pack hurried to the edge of their circle only to be blocked by other ferals who were far more numerous. Alone, each individual pack was too small to face Elaran’s group, but together, they easily outnumbered them.
No one was allowed to interfere in a scrap, and there was no rule against using rarities. It was simply unheard of for someone with a rarity to fight in one. Other than the circumstances that had led to Drake entering the ring, only ferals could fight in scraps.
“Let them fight!” a feral called. “Let them fight!” the crowd echoed.
As the chants grew stronger and more demanding, some of the Granite Pack tried to shout over it. Even their protestations seemed half-hearted. Drake suspected that, given Elaran had forced Valarn to fight to what would have been his death, they didn’t even like their boss.
Drake forced Elaran down onto his face. “You’ve lost, asshole. Yield or I’m turning you into... kitty litter!” Even he had to admit he could have come up with a better threat, but it was taking all his concentration to hold Elaran back.
Yet was obviously Elaran was losing ground. His whole body trembled with exertion, and he looked like a man trying to do a deadlift after doing twenty of them. “Never!”
“Fine.” Drake glowered. “I’ll just KO your ass.”
He reeled back, clenched one force palm into a force fist, and punched Elaran hard enough to send the catman flying across the pit. Elaran hit the far side hard enough that he brought down loose stones and dirt. It was good to see Gaby’s rarity worked offensively as well.
The feral pack leader didn’t even have a chance to rise before Drake punched him again and again from half a pit away, using Gaby’s rarity like twin battering rams. He didn’t want to kill Elaran, necessarily... but after dealing with his bullshit, he wouldn’t be upset if he did.
One more force punch ended the fight. As Drake pulled back his clenched fists, he found Elaran motionless in a pile of dirt and rock, but breathing. Lord Mistvale’s prime was, without doubt, entirely unconscious. It was only now, with the chance to vent his anger at an enemy who’d caused him so much trouble, that he recognized the real problem in his plan.
Now that he’d knocked out the referee, could anyone call the match over?
Author's Note: Next week, Drake gets some parenting advice and commits a war crime.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
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Sachi had a definite strut as she walked into the hole in the ground beneath the circle on which Drake stood. As she approached Valarn, Drake was able to size them up. Valarn had the edge on muscle, while Sachi had the edge on... everything else.
His huntress had served the lords before him for years and had likely been scouting on her own for far longer. Drake realized then he’d never actually seen Sachi fight, at least not hand-to-hand. He’d only seen the aftermath, and the aftermath had been very dead enemies.
A scrap, thankfully, wasn’t fought to the death, though sometimes combatants did die by accident or if they refused to yield. The fight was supposed to take place until one party yielded, lost consciousness (KO), or could no longer continue (TKO). So it wasn’t all that different from a boxing match, except ferals could use all the legs as well and also, their claws.
Given his flashy entrance into the ring, Drake expected Valarn—the champion of the Granite Pack—to taunt Sachi as she approached. Instead, the tall feral clasped his feet together, placed his arms at his sides, straightened his tail behind him, and performed a low and respectful bow. It didn’t look much different than a bow before a karate bout.
Sachi visibly cocked an eyebrow at the genuine display of respect. He heard the crowd go utterly silent as they wondered the same thing he did. Would Sachi return Valaran’s respect with her own, or throw his politeness in his face? What kind of a fighter was she?
Sachi entered the ring and returned the respectful half bow. The crowd cheered, but quietly, like they were watching golf. As Valarn dropped his tense posture and shook himself loose, bouncing on the balls of his feet, Drake revised his earlier estimation of the feral Sachi was going up against. Perhaps Valarn wasn’t just some cocky braggart after all.
That made him a little more worried about Sachi’s chances. The question was what he would do if she lost and refused to yield. If she yielded, her father would be executed, and while Sachi and her father seemed to be at odds, she doubted she wanted him dead.
So if she did lose, Drake would have a choice. If she was certain to die he could withdraw his support for her, force her to yield, and ensure her father was executed. Or, he could let her fight until the bitter end and lose her and her father.
That was not a choice he wanted to make... but life in this world was rough. If he refused to let Sachi fight for her family, she’d probably never forgive him. He suspected that if she was able to choose how she’d die, she’d choose to die fighting for what she wanted.
Elaran walked to the edge of his circle and gazed impassively down at the combatants. Drake surveyed their surroundings and realized the area all around them was now packed with ferals, with many more watched from the nearby trees. He was glad he hadn’t tried to rescue Kel and his people with his small army. This army of ferals, together, was much bigger.
“Valarn of the Granite Pack!” Elaran called. “Do you stand ready?”
Valarn nodded.
“Sachi of Gloomwood Manor! Did you stand ready?”
She widened her stance, revealed her claws, and hissed through bared teeth.
“May the Eidolons protect the champion who stands in the right,” Elaran said. “Begin!”
Drake expected the two fighters to circle, sizing each other up and feinting to size each other up. What he did not expect was for Sachi and Valarn to sprint forward and slash at each other like two snakes trying to bite the same target. They wasted no time mixing it up, snarling and yowling exactly like two cats mixing it up on the street.
Their movements... strike and counterstrikes and feints... occurred too fast for him to follow, but as they split apart as quickly as they’d come together, he saw the results of the opening bout. Sachi had a bright red furrow across her left arm, where blood matted both flesh and fur. Valarn had two wicked slashes down his chest, just now starting to bleed.
Only now did the two ferals circle, and while Valarn’s gaze remained steady and his jaw remained set, Drake caught the unease in his eyes. When he looked at Sachi, however, he found nothing but her feral grin and hungry gaze. She was confident she would win.
The two fighters clashed again and again as the crowd cheered uproariously, and each time, both came away increasingly bloody. Yet there was no doubt Valarn was getting the worst of it. He came away from their latest lightning-fast encounter limping badly with one arm hanging at his side. It was obviously broken. Bloody scratches marred his chest and face.
Sachi, sadly, was only a little better off. She was absolutely covered in blood, making it almost impossible to tell if she’d been cut or if another cut had simply bled all over her. Drake remembered some wisdom he’d once heard from one of his construction buddies about a knife fight... which was, basically, never get into one. Even if you won, you were going to get cut.
Valarn risked a quick glance at Elaran. He was obviously asking to tap out. His pack leader frowned and shook his head. Valarn wiped blood from his eyes with his one remaining arm, lowered his stance, and hissed... but his eyes said he knew he’d lost.
Sachi approached like the predator she was. She could have pressed her advantage at any time, and had only been waiting to see if Valarn would yield. Drake suspected he wanted to yield, badly... but he couldn’t defy Elaran. The Granite Pack leader remained a massive prick.
When Sachi lunged for Valarn, he reacted with a feint followed by a lightning-fast kick... which completely missed Sachi as she melted under it. Sachi took him to the ground with a snarl and raised one claw. As she savaged him, blood spattered them both.
“Yield!” a panicked feral called from behind Elaran. “Yield, Val!”
Elaran glared at the feral and stiff-armed her away from the edge of the pit, forcing her back into line. Meanwhile, Sachi stood, backed up, and spit blood... but not on Valarn, who was down and unmoving. She spit in the direction of Elaran, who glowered from above.
Valarn had been brutalized. If he wasn’t dead now, he would be in a few minutes. Nobody survived losing that much blood, but his death was on Elaran, not Sachi.
“Call it!” another feral yelled, not one of the Granite Pack. More quickly joined that chant. “Call it! Call it! Call it!”
Elaran raised a massive paw for silence. It came immediately.
“As Lord Mistvale’s prime, I withdraw my champion,” he bellowed. “I will prove these charges myself!”
Drake glanced angrily at Samuel. “Can he do that?
Samuel frowned.
“He can’t do that!”
“As the prime, he cannot substitute another champion once his champion has been bested,” Samuel said grimly. “But as the accuser, he can substitute himself.”
As several ferals finally sprinted into the ring to check on Valarn, their grim expressions said all he needed to know about the catman’s fate. Drake saw an opportunity to win the crowd to his side and, more importantly, something he simply wanted to do. He looked to Darion.
“Go to that downed catman. Bind all the flesh you can. If you can save him, do it.”
Darion nodded eagerly. “At once, Lord Gloomwood.”
As Darion hurried off the circle, several other ferals moved to intercept him. Drake stepped after him. “My thrall can seal Valarn’s wounds and may be able to save his life! As Lord Gloomwood, I offer his services! Make way! Let him work and Valarn may live!”
The ferals in Darion’s way cleared out at once. Several even looked visibly grateful for the gesture of goodwill. Meanwhile, Sachi simply glared up at Elaran, who didn’t have a scratch on him. She was limping visibly, covered in blood, and cut in more places than he could count.
Despite all that, Sachi looked more ready to tear Elaran apart... and probably could, even in this condition, though doing so might kill her. “Get down here, then!” Sachi bellowed. “I’ve got more than enough left for you!”
Elaran cracked his knuckles loudly enough that Drake heard it across the arena. “The Eidolons will judge the truth of this challenge.”
“This is bullshit!” Drake directed those words at the crowd. “Elaran knew he couldn’t beat Sachi in a scrap, so he forced his pack mate fight to soften her up!”
More than a few ferals looked his way sympathetically, but while a few half-hearted shouts started up, none survived. As they looked back to Elaran, his glower said it all.
Together, all of these disparate packs might be able to take on Elaran and his eighty-two—no, it was eighty-one now—packmates, but alone? They’d get torn apart. That was how the prime had ruled for so long. Unless the other ferals united, he would always rule.
“You’re a coward, Elaran!” Drake shouted. “Sachi won that scrap!”
Elaran smugly made his way down to the ring. “Your petty protestations do us all a disservice, Lord Gloomwood! Unless you wish to withdraw your champion, the scrap will continue until one of us yields.”
Drake looked to Sachi for guidance. What did she want him to do? As he grinned his way, covered in blood and barely keeping her feet, he knew exactly what she wanted. She was going to fight until Elaran killed her, and while she might be willing to die... there was no need.
He stripped off his silverweave tunic and tossed it aside. “Elaran! I challenge you!”
Lydia touched his now bare arm. “Are you sure?” The only reason she hadn’t physically restrained him was because they’d talked all this out beforehand. Or rather... he’d told them what he planned to do if it went bad, and they hadn’t talked him out of it.
“I am,” Drake said. “We’re done letting his asshole bully us.”
Elaran threw back his head and laughed. “You have no claws, Lord Gloomwood!”
“But I’m still the one who called you out on your bullshit, which means I can replace my champion with myself. Sachi? You’re out!”
Sachi hissed his way. Yet as she tried to move to stop him, she stumbled and fell to one knee. She pushed up despite her wounds. She was fading.
“Let’s go get her,” he ordered his battle maids.
As he descended to the pit with Lydia, Valentia, and Nicole all following close behind, Elaran crossed his arms across his massive chest and scowled. “I cannot strike the Lord of Gloomwood Manor. I will not be responsible for instigating a war.”
Drake continued to advance on the pit. “So you yield, then?”
“Your champion has not defeated me. My ruling stands until she does.”
Drake looked around at the gathered, silent, visibly anxious crowd. “So this is how your prime rules you? He sends his pack mates to fight and die in his place because he’s too much of a coward to face you himself? Is this who you want in command?”
“I will not place all packs in danger by earning the wrath of Lord Gloomwood!” Elaran shouted. “Abandon your grievance, or let your champion fight in your place!”
“You say you won’t fight me because you’re worried about starting a war? Fine! No matter what you do to me, I won’t start one!” He glanced at the line of zarovians standing on the circle. “As Lord Gloomwood, I compel you! If Elaran defeats me in this scrap, you will not go to war! No matter what happens to me in the pit, he remains blameless!”
He couldn’t actually compel anyone in his army to do shit, but Elaran didn’t know that. As he reached Sachi, Drake offered a hand to help her up. She took it and rose.
Given all the blood on her, Drake couldn’t tell if she was grinning or glaring at him. He handed her off to Lydia. She, Valentia, and Nicole all started running their healing gloves over the worst of Sachi’s wounds. It was a courtesy she accepted grudgingly.
“You won this scrap,” he reminded her quietly. “You kicked the shit out of Valarn. I’m just here to make sure this asshole doesn’t welch on his bet. Let me do that.”
“I can still defeat him,” Sachi insisted angrily.
“I know you can,” Drake assured her. “But after seeing what a tool he is, I want to kick his ass. Do me this one favor. Let me beat the shit out of him.”
“Fine,” Sachi said stiffly. “Finish the fight, but be quick about it.”
Drake looked to Lydia. “Get her stabilized until Darion can tend to her.”
As his battle maids led Sachi off, Drake glanced at where Valarn had fallen. Darion continued tending him, which suggested Valarn was still alive. Between Darion, Lydia, Valentia, and Nicole, he should have enough healers to save them both. He hoped.
Drake stepped into the pit and glared at Elaran. “What’ll it be, dipshit? Are we fighting, or are you going to hop off with your tail between your legs?”
Elaran bared some very intimidating teeth. “You are a fool.”
“And you’re afraid of me,” Drake reminded everyone now standing around the pit. “I already said I won’t go to war if you beat me. So come get some!”
“I accept your challenge,” Elaran rumbled. “We begin... now.”
The massive feral surged forward so quickly that Drake was certain he would have been ripped apart in a second... had he not simply raised his hand. That motion stopped Elaran in his tracks. The impact of Elaran’s bulk slamming into the massive and invisible palm stretched out in front of Drake sent him back a step, but he recovered.
As Elaran strained at the invisible force now restraining him—Gaby’s fullstop rarity, burnished by Drake’s ability to emulate it—he watched as the eyes of his enemy grew increasingly more alarmed. He’d taken Gaby’s rarity today because it was the best way to stop a horde of arrows from a party of ferals if they had to run... but it had other uses.
“What’s the matter?” Drake called. “Performance anxiety?”
“Lord Gloomwood uses a rarity!” a feral called from above. “That is not a scrap!”
“And almost letting Valarn to weaken Sachi is honorable?” Drake glared up at the ferals above. “Look at your downed pack mate! How many like you has this piece of shit sent to die so he can stay safe? He doesn’t care about you, Granite Pack! All he cares about is power!”
The whole time he spoke, Elaran continued to struggle against the force Drake exerted with one hand. “Release me!” Elaran demanded. “Fight with your claws!”
“I don’t have claws, remember?” Drake smiled at him. “Now sit down.”
He raised his other hand and pushed... downward. The second invisible palm pressed down on Elaran from above. The feral gasped as he strained against it, yet even his impressive strength was no match for Gaby’s burnished rarity. Drake forced him to his knees.
“Yield?” Drake shouted. “Or die?”
Several members of the Granite Pack hurried to the edge of their circle only to be blocked by other ferals who were far more numerous. Alone, each individual pack was too small to face Elaran’s group, but together, they easily outnumbered them.
No one was allowed to interfere in a scrap, and there was no rule against using rarities. It was simply unheard of for someone with a rarity to fight in one. Other than the circumstances that had led to Drake entering the ring, only ferals could fight in scraps.
“Let them fight!” a feral called. “Let them fight!” the crowd echoed.
As the chants grew stronger and more demanding, some of the Granite Pack tried to shout over it. Even their protestations seemed half-hearted. Drake suspected that, given Elaran had forced Valarn to fight to what would have been his death, they didn’t even like their boss.
Drake forced Elaran down onto his face. “You’ve lost, asshole. Yield or I’m turning you into... kitty litter!” Even he had to admit he could have come up with a better threat, but it was taking all his concentration to hold Elaran back.
Yet was obviously Elaran was losing ground. His whole body trembled with exertion, and he looked like a man trying to do a deadlift after doing twenty of them. “Never!”
“Fine.” Drake glowered. “I’ll just KO your ass.”
He reeled back, clenched one force palm into a force fist, and punched Elaran hard enough to send the catman flying across the pit. Elaran hit the far side hard enough that he brought down loose stones and dirt. It was good to see Gaby’s rarity worked offensively as well.
The feral pack leader didn’t even have a chance to rise before Drake punched him again and again from half a pit away, using Gaby’s rarity like twin battering rams. He didn’t want to kill Elaran, necessarily... but after dealing with his bullshit, he wouldn’t be upset if he did.
One more force punch ended the fight. As Drake pulled back his clenched fists, he found Elaran motionless in a pile of dirt and rock, but breathing. Lord Mistvale’s prime was, without doubt, entirely unconscious. It was only now, with the chance to vent his anger at an enemy who’d caused him so much trouble, that he recognized the real problem in his plan.
Now that he’d knocked out the referee, could anyone call the match over?
Author's Note: Next week, Drake gets some parenting advice and commits a war crime.
Have a great weekend, everyone!
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