A HENRY STORY 2: Trials Of The Fallen Prince

XXI. Rage

"Here, today, we are all once again gathered to observe the greatest champion this establishment has ever known in his unending rage!"

Keep your head up, back straight, and feet firmly grounded on the floor; if needed, dig in your toes to stay rooted. Kismet's words replayed in his ears, competing with the frantic roars of the audience, and instantly, Achilles stood taller.

"Yet first," Longclaw's announcer Dustfur continued, "let us welcome the utterly suicidal—eh, I mean most brave challengers!"

Another uproar rippled through the tightly packed ranks surrounding the arena as two gnawers sauntered out of the shade. They howled and circled each other friskily, then gave the audience a theatrical wave.

"Let us hear it for Threeleg and Crusher—here out of free will!"

The crowd erupted in cheers and laughter, although a few whistles and jeers interspersed.

"So, you two dare challenge our so-far undefeated human champion?" Dustfur leaped from his announcer space and planted himself in front of the two challengers—not an easy feat, considering he was nearly a head shorter than Crusher.

"Oh, please," Threeleg snarled, waving the stump of his left front paw. "We've watched him fight the other day. He is getting insanely lucky; I have got to give him that. But he's still only a measly human."

"Measly and puny, no matter if he wears that mask or not!" Crusher snorted. "Brother and I will grind him to dust!"

Achilles' jaw clenched. Lucky? He was most certainly not getting "lucky". He instinctively reached for his mask, adjusting it and noting the old bloodstain that marred its surface. Well, if anything, it added to the mask's impression.

"Confident as ever, they are!" Dustfur snarled and leaped back toward his post. "We will see if the confidence pays off. Will our reigning champion remain undefeated, or will he finally meet his match?"

Amidst the roaring crowd, Achilles firmly planted his heel into the gritty sand, surveying his opponents. His hand undauntedly grasped the handle of his sword, even though he had not yet faced two gnawers at once within the arena. Would this be the day he would die?

"And here he is!" Dustfur's voice cut into his thoughts. "Our reigning champion, with a flawless record of eighteen consecutive victories . . . He who is said to be feared even by Death Himself—the Great Achilles!"

With each step he took into the blinding radiance of the braziers, his foot stirred up a tempest of white sand, accompanied by thunderous cheers. Gritting his teeth, he regulated his breathing, allowing the screams to fade into the background. Drawing his sword and peering through the horned mask, his sole focus was on Dustfur.

"Fight!" bellowed the announcer, inciting his opponents to launch themselves at him in a coordinated onslaught, their claws and fangs bared. Yet Achilles had anticipated their attack well in advance.

If I cannot deter you from becoming Longclaw's champion, you cannot deter me from drilling you until you may truly call yourself "Greatest Warrior". And much to learn you have, snarled Kismet in his ear. You already visualize sounds; now you will learn to analyze them. And so he did.

One opponent advancing from the left with a determined trajectory and speed, another from the right with a slight deviation and slower velocity. Starting countdown, prompting action before the calculated collision in 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . .

It was not so different from striking a blood ball, thought Achilles. Like striking all the blood balls, only a hundred times more flawless. Rolling to evade, he weaved past Threeleg's teeth and Crusher's claws, then deftly swung his sword backward, connecting with Crusher's tail. The rat emitted a squeal of agony, but to his ire, the tail remained intact.