Witches Be Crazy, page 10
Dungar loomed over his battered opponent, who was bleeding from the face and gasping for air, before he looked up at Herrow. She was seated comfortably in a large throne overlooking the fight. Seeing that it had come to a close, she got up from her chair and raised a hand towards the arena; her thumb protruding downward from that hand.
Dungar looked at her with her odd hand expression, before making one back to her with a different lone finger protruding from his. Then he kicked Chocky in the ribs one more time for good measure before strolling back to his gate.
“Not so fast, convict!” Herrow’s voice rang out through the stadium. “Your term here in Vthnnqouayey arena is only just beginning!”
As if on cue, the gate at the other end of the coliseum opened up to reveal another gladiator.
“So that’s how it’s gonna be, huh?” Dungar growled through gritted teeth. She kidnapped him against his will, slandered him and painted him as a convict, subjected him to beatings and solitary confinement, and then sentenced him to die like an animal. No more. Dungar was going to tear her limb from limb even if he had to go through every gladiator north of the Great Fall.
He wasted no time with this new challenger. He bowed his shoulders and took off towards his opponent at an all-out sprint. The new gladiator, a shorter man in gold armor and a matching gold helmet, froze in awe of the barbarous blacksmith bearing down on him. Once he reached about five paces away from his target Dungar leaped an epic leap into the sky, winding back his fist as he rose. As he came back towards the ground, he drove his fist into the gladiator’s face with an impact so thunderous that the man’s helmet and shoes were thrown from his body as he hurtled backwards at breakneck speed into the wall. The gladiator’s face was gone; all that remained was a solution of pulverized bones, teeth, and blood.
Adrenaline coursing through his veins, and thoughts of vengeance coursing through his mind, Dungar paced in front of the gate like a rabid redbear just begging for someone to come through. When someone did, Dungar lunged for them just the same. However this time Dungar watched in horror as this opponent deftly ducked under his wild haymaker and delivered a counter crushing blow to Dungar’s foot with his mace.
The momentum of the fight took a serious turn as Dungar felt his body go crashing to the ground; his foot in implacable pain. As he tried to get up, the imbalance of his body made his movements slow and predictable and he quickly received another mace blow to his chest sending him right back to the ground. His mind was disoriented and his lungs were breathless, it was all he could do to roll out of the way of the crushing blows of his opponent’s mace.
As he dodged another swing and the mace crashed into the ground, Dungar took his opportunity to retaliate. He grabbed the handle of the mace just below the head as the gladiator went to pull it back. Using his opponent’s own strength to get him back in his feet, as well as net him a bit of forward momentum, Dungar used his good leg to support himself while using his other leg to drive his knee into the gladiator’s gut. The man recoiled backwards, hunched over forward with his hands clutching his stomach. The mace now in his hands, Dungar finished his adversary off with an upwards swing of it right into the man’s jaw.
Three bodies now littered the arena. It was far from a bath of blood, but Dungar certainly had enough of the stuff on him. His chest ached from the blow, and he leaned heavily to his left side due to inability to put much weight on his right foot. His confidence and ferocity had waned, but his life was on the line, and he was not going to let Herrow beat him regardless of how many henchmen she had to hide herself behind. At least that’s what he thought before his next opponent came out.
The next gladiator that walked out of that gate was nothing that Dungar could have possibly expected. It was a tall thin creature, at least nine feet high at the head, but the strangest part of it was how thin it was. Its chest had to have been almost four feet long, but it was only about as big around as Dungar’s leg. The limbs that protruded from it offered a matching description; long and skinny. The face was the strangest of all though. Its eyes consisted of thin glowing red slits and its nose was long and sharp not unlike a beak. Its lips were all but nonexistent, simply thin folds of skin curled into a deep, ingrained frown where the mouth would be. The unnerving visage was capped off by patches of long strands of silky white hair that flowed shabbily down all sides of the creature’s head.
Slowly and gracefully it walked towards him, it’s incredibly long legs taking enormous strides, before coming to a halt in front of him.
Clouded by pain, adrenaline, anger, and desperation, Dungar looked the creature up and down with contempt.
“You think you’re tough, skinny?” Dungar bellowed. “Let’s see what you’re made of!”
He reared the mace back, but before he could swing it forward he was knocked off his feet and several paces to his right by a punishing right hook from the creature. Dungar sat up from the ground rubbing his face just in time to see the creature effortlessly pick up the body of the gold-clad gladiator with one hand and begin swinging it around like a mace. It was truly horrifying.
It was all he could do to dive and roll and limp and do any movement within his power to avoid the constant slamming of the 180 pound body against the ground all around him. However, a man of Dungar’s size and in Dungar’s condition could only be so agile. The beatings he had endured over the last few days coupled with the physical exhaustion of pushing his body in the ways that he had been today and the night before had heavily sapped at his once tremendous vigor. A half step too short or a half second too late and he would inevitably find the battered remains of his former opponent crashing down upon him. And surely that is what happened.
Reality slowed to a crawl for Dungar as the full force of a fully grown adult male being swung by an even larger creature impacted his body. He felt the impact, but there was no instantly registered pain. Just the feeling of his body involuntarily seizing up as his legs continued to move in one direction while his body moved in the other. He could not cry out in pain, he could not reach out to brace his fall; he could only experience the ride as if he were simply a passenger in his own body as it experienced the physical punishment completely separately.
When Dungar’s body impacted the ground was when time sped up to its normal rate for him. It was as if pain were a white hot molten liquid that had suddenly washed over his entire body. He could not articulate where he hurt, he could not even articulate what kind of hurt it was, all he knew was that he was in pain and all he had the physical capacity to do was to lay there and pray for the molten agony that currently enveloped him to cool.
His animal of an opponent now loomed over him menacingly before delivering a crushing punch into the side of his face. But Dungar didn’t even react. The blow of the punch was simply a small extra bubble on the surface of his molten lake of misery.
Satisfied with his decimation of Dungar, the creature reached down and picked him up, holding him high for the arena to see. Dungar wasn’t sure if it was the bright sunlight shining on his face that reignited his burning desire for life, or if it was the roar of that crowd of horrible people that he hated so much, but at that very moment he decided he’d be burned if he was going to let some twiggy bird thing be the instrument of his undoing.
He grabbed the gladiator by the hand it held him with and sunk his teeth as far as they would go into the meaty area just below the thumb. His opponent jerked and screeched but his teeth held firm until the chunk of flesh his teeth were latched onto was torn loose from the creature’s hand.
Dungar spit out the chunk of meat he’d just bitten off before he grabbed the closest item he could find, which was the small round shield from his first opponent, and smashed it as hard as he could against the tall thing’s knee.
With a chunk torn from its hand, and a thoroughly shattered patella, the gladiator fell to its one good knee leaving it eye level with Dungar. In a last ditch effort, the gladiator threw a final swing at Dungar’s face, but Dungar effortlessly caught the fist in his hand.
His blood was pounding, his muscles were all but completely exerted, and his legs were about to give, but Dungar stood strong and firm with his opponent at his mercy. With his free hand, cool as can be, Dungar reached over and seized a massive fist full of the creature’s patchy, silky hair, and catapulted the creature’s head towards his own so fast that the resulting head-butt echoed throughout the stadium.
The long beak of a nose on his opponent was utterly obliterated and the eye socket where impact was made was completely shattered, the eye totally liquidized. As the creature’s limp body fell to the ground, several teeth could be seen spilling out of its mouth.
Dungar stood stoically in the center of the coliseum. His clothes were ripped and torn to shreds; his hands and face were coated in the blood of his enemies. His chest heaved up and down as he struggled to satiate his body’s heavy desire for oxygen. He knew that as soon as he moved a single muscle, his body was going to give underneath him.
“Bring out the next challenger.” The bored voice of Herrow rang out.
Dungar strained against his body’s desire to give up, but it was no good. He fell to his knees. His vision was blurry and the world was spinning. He couldn’t even make out the cheering of the crowd anymore, everything sounded like it was underwater. He closed his eyes trying to regain his senses, but his equilibrium was shot and he keeled over backwards as a result.
When Dungar opened his eyes again he saw the figure of his opponent looming over him. But for some reason he looked vaguely familiar. As Dungar struggled to focus his eyes, his opponent leaned in closer to his face. That’s when Dungar clued in.
He was face to face with the yellow cat-like eyes and long, sharp snaggleteeth of a Sharley.
ELEVEN
Out of the Fire and Back Into the Pan
Dungar’s life never flashed before his eyes. He made no final pleas to a god he never acknowledged. He couldn’t even say what his final thoughts were. He just lay there in the dirt and the blood focusing on each new breath as it came. The Sharley’s breath carried a uniquely sickening combination of old eggs and flatulence. He couldn’t help but wonder if his body would have any kind of impact on the vile halitosis when the Sharley consumes him. He then thought maybe having ridiculous thoughts like that about his own demise indicated he was ready to die. It was irrelevant either way though; because as the rascally children of Woodwall used to say: ready or not, here it comes.
Dungar waited impatiently, hoping the beast hadn’t decided to start at his feet and work its way up. Nothing came though. Dungar peeled his eyes open so he could see just what was going on. His body still hadn’t really come back online, so getting to an upright position was excruciatingly difficult. As he struggled to get up, he heard the Sharley speak in a deep, raspy voice.
“What are you doing here, pathetic human?” The creature demanded.
“What?” Dungar spat. “Now what kind of stupid question is tha—”
But his response was cut off by an even louder, more incredulous response by a voice so ingrained in Dungar’s mind that he sometimes hears it when he’s trying to sleep.
“Wot am I doing here?!?!”
Dungar immediately sat bolt upright. His eyes could see clearly now, but he still did not believe them. Jimminy was boldly standing in the middle of the stadium facing down the Sharley; he appeared to be totally unarmed.
In as grandiose a gesture as he could muster, Jimminy clenched one fist and used his other hand to dramatically point at the Sharley.
“My name is Jimminy Appaya … And I’m here to kick your ass!”
With a vicious snarl, the Sharley did not so much as hesitate before setting off at a run towards Jimminy. Its long talons were raised and its gaping maw was open wide as it set in for the kill.
Jimminy stood fast as the beast rapidly closed ground. One of his hands disappeared deep into his pocket. Once the Sharley was within a close enough range, Jimminy loudly proclaimed “POCKET SAND!!” and threw a large hand full of the grit into the fiend’s face.
The Sharley, now thoroughly blinded and coughing up clouds of sand, began to violently thrash around, its long talons menacingly swinging to and fro. Jimminy, who was quite agile for a tall and lanky man, did a quick shoulder roll underneath a pair of the swinging claws and ended up behind his opponent. Without missing a beat, he took a run at the creature and delivered a mighty kick right between the humanoid monster’s legs and square into its groin.
With a gurgling groan, the entire body of the Sharley seized up and it crumpled to the ground in a heap, rolling around and clutching its stomach.
“Nothin’ wins brawls like a kick in the balls!” Jimminy declared triumphantly, before stomping on them once more which elicited a pained wail from the downed creature. Satisfied that his opponent was out of commission, Jimminy made his way over to Dungar.
“Good afternoon, mista Dungar! How are you today?”
“Jimmy, what in the bloody blazes—”
“Me too! Come on; let’s get you out of here!”
As Jimminy hauled him to his feet, Dungar caught sight of a rope ladder hanging from the side of the coliseum; it must have been how Jimminy made his way inside. He had no idea how he was going to make it up there, but it was his only chance at salvation.
“Sorry ‘bout the accommodations, mate. It was too hard to smuggle a real ladder past security!” Jimminy huffed as he helped support his companion’s run.
Jimminy raced up the ladder first, his long limbs allowing him to skip rungs with ease. Dungar, in his battered and beaten state, had significant difficulty. It was a bizarre feeling to have one’s own body ignore commands from his brain. Slowly, and with great effort, he raised his arms and legs one after the other. His mind went back to lifting the gate, to punching out the second gladiator, to the brutal beating he received from the tall creature, and the world-ending head-butt he dished out in return. He had come much too far now to simply be foiled by a stupid ladder.
“Hurry, mate!” Jimminy called from above, his hand stretched downward to offer assistance. Dungar did not take it though. Petty as it was, he had it in his mind that he was going to get there and he was going to get there on his own. Eventually he felt the hard lip of the railing in his grasp and, with everything he had, he hauled himself over the side of it before flopping onto the hard wooden floor.
“Nap time can come later!” Jimminy insisted as he pulled on Dungar’s curly hair. “We’ve got to get out of here!”
Groaning and growling, Dungar was hauled to his feet once more as the two set off at a slow limp out of the arena. Enraged yells from both Herrow and guards could be heard behind them, motivating Dungar to continue putting one foot in front of the other. They made their way into the town just outside the arena, hoping to lose their pursuers. Dungar’s body exhausted quickly and he knew he couldn’t carry on this exertion for much longer. At the first empty building he saw, Dungar halted their pace and pushed Jimminy inside before entering himself and closing the door behind him.
They appeared to be in an old storage shed. Packs of grain and flour littered the floor. Dungar’s muscles were more than happy to give way and drop his body into them.
“Look alive, mate!” Jimminy admonished Dungar. “If someone were to come through that door how would ya make a quick escape from down there?”
Without even looking up, Dungar drew attention to Jimminy’s usual getting comfortable ritual. “Jimmy, you’ve taken your pants off. You’re not going anywhere in a hurry either.”
“Ah nonsense!” Jimminy dismissed. “I’ve been in many a situation where I had to put me pants on and make a speedy exit!”
Dungar grumbled to himself a quiet reminder to punch out Jimminy again in the future, because for now his only priority was not moving a single muscle. He wasn’t sure how much of his ordeal Jimminy was privy to, but he must have had some sort of inclination because he sat in silence while Dungar attempted to regain his strength. After a half hour or so, Jimminy clapped his hands and hopped to his feet.
“Alright, mate, the heat should be off! What say we make like me Mum and leave, never to return!”
The last thing Dungar had any desire to do was get up. But he knew the sooner they made it out of town the better. With a low groan and a small heave, Dungar was back on his feet and the duo was out the door. They found themselves in a some what crowded marketplace with the coliseum still in full view. There were assorted stands selling a variety of goods like fruits, vegetables, livestock, jewelry, and knickknacks of every kind. Jimminy’s desire to run to the hills seemed to have fallen to the wayside in favor of thoroughly inspecting every booth’s goods.
Dungar himself couldn’t even resist perusing a few goods here and there. Not that he could actually make any purchases though. He didn’t know if he had left his house with any money, but even if he had, between the kidnapping, the beatings, and the fact his clothes were torn to shreds, there’s no way there would have been any of it left. His attention was immediately diverted when his ears picked up the faint voice of Herrow off in the distance.
“And now, gentleman and ladies, the moment you have all been waiting for! Bring out this year’s batch of Blood Bath contestants!”
Dungar’s mind immediately went back to the cell where he had been imprisoned with Sir Lee. He had to save him. It was the most irrational thing he had ever contemplated in his life, or at least a close second, but somehow he had to get back into the arena and botch the Blood Bath for a second time.
