4. Dark Sides: Rise of the Anacondrai

Chapter 25 - Never Trust a Snake

One of the men shrugged. "Well, I wouldn't say –"

The other elbowed him sharply. "Of course we are! That's why Master Chen asked us to watch you. So don't even think about trying to escape."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Pythor said, flashing his most charming and genuine smile. "Such great warriors as yourselves must have had no difficulty adjusting to your new abilities as Anacondrai."

"Course not, we're pros!"

"Super strength, super speed, invisibility – we've got it all mastered."

"We've even figured out some awesome new moves of our own. Check this one out – I call it, 'Fangs of Fury!" He proceeded to thrash his head about snarling like a rabid dog.

Pythor had to resist the urge to shudder in disgust. His ancestors would surely be rolling over in their graves. "Yes, very nice. And I'm sure you must have also mastered the ancient Anacondrai art of . . . hmm, let's see . . . Oh yes, Fang-kwondo!"

The two imbociles exchanged a glance.

"Fang-kwondo?"

"We've never heard of that."

"You haven't?" Pythor gasped. "You must be joking! Why, Fang-kwondo is only the most sacred and powerful martial art in all of Serpentine history!"

They both gasped, then turned away to confer for a moment. When they turned back to him they asked in unison, "Will you teach us?"

"Well . . ." Pythor pretended to think it over.

"Please!"

"Oh, I suppose. But only because you've proven yourselves to be such strong warriors. Not just anyone can pull it off, you know."

"Sweet!" they both cheered. "What do we do?"

"It's simple enough. Your hand, please."

One of the idiots held out his hand, practically jumping up and down like a giddy child.

"Yes, now just make a fist. Very good, very good. Now I just . . . wind my tail around like so . . . and then . . ." With his tail wrapped tightly around the idiot's wrist, Pythor jerked his fist up and into his face.

"Hey!" The other idiot caught on quicker than expected and moved to attack, but Pythor swept him off balance with his tail. The jar of venom clattered to the floor. Pythor then threw the first idiot into the second, and they both landed in a heap on the ground, knocked out cold.

"Now that that's taken care of –" Pythor threw a glance around, wondering what kind of supplies they would have left lying around. There wasn't much, and after a brief search, Pythor found nothing of any value to him. Even Clouse had taken that spellbook with him. Although Pythor had little use for sorcery, he could only imagine what kind of knowledge it contained.

The question remained then, what Pythor would do. Speaking for the short-term, of course. Long-term he knew exactly what he wanted: revenge.

But how to get his revenge would be a challenge in itself. He had no army, no allies, not even a weapon with which to defend himself. If he could speak with the other tribes, he could possibly convince them to work together long enough to get rid of the humans. But he didn't know where they were all locked up, or even if any of them had survived like he had.

He was completely on his own. But then, that was hardly any different than usual.

Oh, he would have his vengeance, to be sure. It was just a matter of patience and careful planning. He had waited so long already.