Chapter 66
Finale
- His eyes turned a golden hue as triump stirred to birth within his heart -
Dark robes swirled around, echoing the hushed whispers of the sea of onlookers who had gathered around the arena in the spectator court to watch the final round of the Fury. Tall pillars of darkened stone bore emblems of the different classes. Even the tiles upon the floor of the spectator courts had carved into them, in detailed design, intricate images of man and beast, weapon and tool.
There was an atmosphere of astonishment and many pale faces beneath dark hoods had eyes alight with the light of bewilderment. For two mere boys, barely sixteen years of age, had reached the final round of the annual tournament. Two mere boys, not even close to completing their training, had somehow reached the final round of the Fury. One of the boys, the bigger of the two, had powered through each of his rounds, dispatching his opponents with cold, calculated and cruel ease, demonstrating raw power and remarkable strength. His onlookers had marveled in his power but narrowed their eyes in distaste, with some choosing to look away from displays of flagrant disrespect and blatant cruelty. The other boy, though smaller in stature, had fought both savagely and desperately and though at times it seemed he would be overcome by his opponent, somehow, the boy would employ all manner of skill, tactic and strategy, in finding a way to victory. In the second and third rounds, the boy had intentionally let his guard down a number of occasions, drawing his opponent in, before dancing away much to his opponent's frustration. Each time his opponent rushed in, the boy backed out. As his opponent grew tired, the boy appeared to grow stronger and more confident. Days and months of physical labour under the instruction of his cruel master had conditioned the boy's body in a manner unlike any of the other contestants. The round had lasted for an exhausting two hours before the boy's opponent dropped to the floor, unable to move, the automaton's voice declaring the man unconscious. In the fourth round, the boy had employed a similar tactic as he had in round one but of a more cunning nature. And the speed at which he had executed the move was incredible, drawing a raised eyebrow from even the High Paladin himself. He had lured his opponent to the very edge of the inner ring before allowing himself to be hit squarely in the chest. But as the boy appeared to fall beyond the edge of the inner ring, his hands shot out to catch his opponent's fist, the very same that had struck him. Gripping his opponent's gloved fist tightly, the boy had leaned backwards using his bodyweight to drag his opponent downwards and as his opponent's momentum pulled him forward and downward, the boy pivoted, pushing off from his falling opponent, stepping back into the inner circle, much to the astonishment of the silent crowd.
Within the ring of darkened tiles stood two figures. They stood apart from each other and did not look at the other. The bigger boy bounded about in powerful movements, stretching and testing his muscles and joints. On his face was plastered a haughty look. The smaller boy, however, barely moved, but stood with his head bowed low, as if staring at the ground or in deep prayer and meditation, arms hanging limply at his side. His face could not be seen by any of the onlookers.
Floating high above the tournament was a medium-sized hovering platform where the members of the Angardian Council of the tournament stood present, ready to announce the victor of the annual tournament. Tension hung in the air as the crowd waited with bated breath for the automaton voice to announce the final round of the Fury. A golden-brown haired girl with golden-orange eyes, unseen by both contestants, stood near the edge of the ring of onlookers. She watched on nervously.
The sonorous voice of the automaton resounded throughout the hall, reverberating from the towering pillars of dark stone.
"The final round of the Fury. Gargan Beefheart. Gargan Beefheart defeated Boria Jashova in the first round. Garan Beefheart defeated Lax Maron in the second round. Gargan Beefheart defeated Trafga Hivler in the third round. Gargan Beefheart defeated Jinn Mahegak in the fourth round."
There was a pause as Gargan walked toward the center of the inner circle. His strides were proud and confident. Upon reaching the center of the circle, he folded his arms before him. The sonorous voice then rang out again.
"The final round. Thonavar Ironhand. Thonavar Ironhand defeated Spatica Lafrick in the first round. Thonavar Ironhand defeated Fared Malig in the second round. Thonavar Ironhand defeated Maron Jusglivich in the third round. Thonavar Ironhand defeated Borin Eglosa in the fourth round.
Then there was another dramatic pause.
The hall was deathly silent.
Thonavar walked slowly to the center of the inner circle of tiles. He did not look at his opponent who glared at him haughtily as he strode into the inner ring.
"The final round. Gargan Beefheart and Thonavar Martin Ironhand. Prepare yourselves."
Thonavar swiftly took a fighting stance with fists raised. Smiling cruelly, Gargan took a menacing step forward and stretched both palms out, waving them barely inches from Thonavar's face.
"Begin", called out the sonorous voice.
Gargan wasted no time and thrust out with a harsh guttural bellow. Thonavar was caught by Gargan's speed and fury and tried to put up his arms to block Gargan's attack. The crowd of onlookers gasped as Gargan's palms snaked out and caught Thonavar's right fist before swinging him round and hurling him into the air behind him. Such was the strength of the bigger boy.
Thonavar landed on the floor slightly winded and was about to roll to his feet when pain exploded at his right side as Gargan leapt forward to where Thonavar lay on the floor, lashing out with a leg. Barely dodging another kick that would have struck his face, Thonavar rolled to his feet and bounded away from Gargan. Gargan charged at him twice more but each time, Thonavar bounded away at the edge of the circle, with Gargan's punches barely catching him.
Gargan bared his teeth and with a snarl, he charged at Thonavar again and again, his movements aggressively powerful. But Thonavar was quick-footed and nimbly moved beyond Gargan's reach each time to avoid meeting him head-on. Gargan's barrage of punches were not only ferocious but controlled and he executed each strike and uppercut with skill and perfection that Thonavar could only admire. But nevertheless, Thonavar studied Gargan's movements, looking for any obvious weaknesses. But there seemed to be none.
"The gods have been kind to you Ironhand, for letting you come this far when you should not have. But now, their blessing has run out. Your fights were not true for you never landed a blow upon any of your opponents. I do not tire. And I will not be caught unaware by your paltry tricks. There will be blood this evening. And it will not be mine", said Gargan menacingly. Ignoring the taunt, Thonavar moved cautiously, keeping his arms up in case his footwork failed and he needed to block the barrage of punches he knew would issue from Gargan Beefheart. Gargan smiled and adjusted his red guantlets. He flexed and clenched his fists.
Suddenly Gargan feinted a charge toward the left and leapt toward the right where he knew Thonavar would be. Thonavar's eyes widened in surprise and he lifted his arms to cover his face while moving away. Gargan smiled and issued a series of blistering punches.
Gargan's right arm swung over Thonavar's head with a left uppercut following after. Thonavar ducked under the blow and tilted his chin back to avoid the uppercut which barely grazed his chin. But Gargan read this and somehow controlled the swing of his left uppercut such that it changed direction and twisted round to become a forward punch which exploded into Thonavar's chin. Another right hook from Gargan found the left side of Thonavar's cheek. Thonavar's vision blurred and stumbled back quickly, clutching the side of his face. The crowd gasped and whispered in excitement. They sensed blood.
Gargan chuckled to himself, swaggering arrogantly as he walked toward Thonavar.
"You are weak Ironhand. There is nothing you can do to defeat me. Your opponents were weaker than you and that is why you are here. But you are all weak", said Gargan, his eyes bulging, for he sensed that victory was close. "You are all weak."
Thonavar said nothing for he was exhausted. He shook his head, trying to shake off the blurriness that was threatening to settle. For his head still rang and stung with the pain of Gargan's blows. He saw Gargan approach him but drops of sweat fell into his eye and he blinked hastily to restore his vision. His mind raced as he sought an effective strategy. For now, he would try to avoid Gargan's massive punches. Thonavar had seen how devastatingly powerful Gargan's punches had been in previous fights and had studied Gargan's movements. Gargan was slower than him but seemed to be tireless. This time, there was no outlasting Gargan or tiring him out.
Taking advantage of Thonavar's small lapse in focus, Gargan charged and came face to face with Thonavar, grinning savagely. Thonavar reacted with speed, leaping back immediately but not before Gargan's fist came snaking out, thundering toward his face. As Thonavar cleared the mighty blow from Gargan, Gargan's knuckles still managed to graze his cheek and the force from the impact was enough to send Thonavar back a few steps.
Gargan followed in with a series of blistering punches and elbow hooks and Thonavar was forced back once more, moving his head to the left and right as he sought to evade Gargan's blows. Gargan's gauntlets swiped right and left, brilliant displays of red across Thonavar's vision. Thonavar was not fast enough and a punch exploded upon his chin. Thonavar stumbled and Gargan moved in, following his punch with an elbow hook which smashed into Thonavar's nose. Clutching his nose, Thonavar stumbled to the side, his head reeling. His face felt numb and he could not feel his nose. Blood dripped to the floor and he knew he was bleeding. Gargan swaggered as he walked toward Thonavar. Gargan leapt toward Thonavar and dispatched two powerful blows. Thonavar countered the first blow with a weak right wrist hook but Gargan caught his left wrist before he could counter it. Two things happened. The first thing that happened was that Gargan's second blow slammed straight into Thonavar's chest winding him completely. The second thing that happened was that Gargan, still holding Thonavar's left wrist in his hand, twisted it around and snapped it. There was a sickening crack and Gargan released Thonavar's wrist, a savage grin on his face. The crowd gasped as a cry of pain erupted from Thonavar's lips. He cried out in pain, as a burning sensation began to spread across Thonavar's arm. He fell to the floor, crying out in pain, clutching his left wrist. Rolling around the floor, Thonavar tried to move the fingers on his left hand but they did not move. Instead, pain shot up his arm and tore into him. Tears welled up in his eyes as the pain was almost unbearable. Lifting his left arm, he saw the angle of his splayed wrist and knew it was broken.
The crowd was silent now as they sensed that the end of the tournament was fast approaching.
Up above, Lord Damon stood on the edge of hovering platform. His eyes narrowed, but he remained expressionless. He said nothing.
"Get up varu", whispered the golden-brown haired girl watching from deep within the crowd.
Behind Lord Damon, Felix Vanyaga too watched with bated breath. His eyelids twitched. Get up boy...
"Finish him", whispered Lord Beefheart, with a gloating look, his eyes bulging as he struggled to control his excitement.
From within the crowd, a golden-brown headed girl pulled back her hood and pushed her way forward. Her face was ashen and grey.
"You are weak and pathetic Ironhand. Lie there and die", taunted Gargan with a mocking smile. As Thonavar lay helpless on the floor, Gargan came around and hovered over him, casting a shadow over Thonavar. Gargan's red pair of gauntlets glittered evilly like scales.
"Cry for the bitch you call mother", said Gargan, his words like poison. "Scream for that filthy whore."
In the midst of the tremendous pain, Gargan's words struck home. The image of his mother, Mirya sprang to his mind. Her face was beautiful and it was gentle. She smiled kindly at him and reached out to him. Thonavar desperately reached out to her but she seemed so far away. Then the vision evaporated and in its place stood the cruel and gloating Gargan Beefheart. As the image disappated Thonavar felt a rage unlike never before well up within him and his eyes grew narrow. Something stirred within, welling up and then surging throughout his body like an electric shock.
"Go on", said Gargan loudly, looking around at the crowd as he grew in arrogance. "I want to hear you scream for that whore mother of yours who gave birth to the demon spawn that is you".
But before he could finish his sentence, Gargan took a step back and swallowed his words as Thonavar's bloodied face came right up to his. Slightly disturbed, Gargan took a step back as Thonavar's right fist snaked out like lightning, exploding upon his chin. As his fist connected with Gargan's chin, Thonavar followed through, putting his entire body weight behind the strike, and felt energy channel through him and into his silvery guantlets. The force of the blow split the skin beneath his chin, drawing a spray of blood. Gargan took a step forward and caught Thonavar's right wrist. But Thonavar leapt into the air and his feet kicked out to smash into Gargan's chest. The bigger boy took another step back and Thonavar wringed his right fist free from Gargan's grasp.
Thonavar surged forward, his left wrist dangling useless behind him. He feinted toward the left and ducked under a right hook before surging up into Gargan's face once more dealing him another right blow into his face. Gargan winced as Thonavar's fist exploded upon his face and cried out in pain as he fell to the ground.
Pain clouded his vision and for a moment he could not see, his arms flailing about in the murkiness. Then his vision cleared and he rose to his feet hastily, not seeing the outstretched hand of help offered by Thonavar. Upon seeing Thonavar standing before him, Gargan retreated rapidly, taking several steps back, his eyes wide in shock. His looked around nervously at the sea of whispering black-robes. He sensed their disdain for him. Cold eyes stared at him from within black robes. "Coward", he heard someone whisper, but could not identify the speaker.
They hate me...
Something trickled down the side of his cheek.
How they long to see me fall...
He touched his cheek with an index finger and saw blood. The area under his chin stung and he rubbed it with his hand only to cry out in pain as he scraped bloody tissue, drops of blood pattering onto the cold floor. His eyes widened further. He had defeated all his opponents without so much as a scratch. This was the first time in the contest that anyone managed to wound him. Anger flared within him. And something else as well.
Doubt...
From the time he had first stepped into Sanctum, Gargan had overcome every challenge and obstacle placed before him, much to the admiration of his host and the instructors. His classification was effortless. He had located the red pair of guantlets easily and had struck down the demon of fire and ash with but a single blow into the chest. Since beginning his formal training, he had swept aside every single opponent that had conquered all put before him with arrogance and brutality. He was Gargan Beefheart, son of Sigmourne Beefheart, the Lord of Thunder. He would be the next Lord of Thunder, succeeding his father, and he would be the strongest and the most powerful of all the classes. Even more powerful then Lord Damon or Lord Ramonth himself. His many victories and achievements had instilled in him a belief that he was truly invincible.
Until today. Until this moment.
He looked up at the hovering platform above.
And saw the face of his father, looking down upon him, reddened with anger and disappointment.
His stomach did a knot and he trembled in fear.
He looked front and saw the figure of Thonavar standing before him with his remaining fist clenched, ready and alert.
With a great deal of reluctance, Gargan walked toward Thonavar, his shoulders slumped and head bowed in defeat. Blood trickled down the side of his right cheek. The left side of his face was bruised and Thonavar could see an ugly purple patch forming where he his fist had struck.
The crowd was deathly silent as a battered and worn-out Gargan stopped to stand before Thonavar, arms hanging loosely by his sides. He said nothing but blood freely flowed from a gash near his eye.
Seconds passed and still Gargan said nothing. Thonavar kept his right fist raised. His left arm hung limply by his side. Then Gargan spoke.
"You fought well", said Gargan. His voice was low and his tone, apologetic. He looked at the ground before looking Thonavar in the eye.
"I am... sorry about your left arm. I am sorry... for... everything."
At this, Thonavar relaxed, a soft sigh escaping from his lips. His head felt light.
It was over.
"You...you won this fight with honour. I have... I have... misjudged you", said Gargan, his eyes downcast.
He extended a limp hand toward Thonavar.
"Let us put aside our conflict and make amends", said Gargan again, humility and regret evident in his tone and voice. Thonavar lowered his fist and relaxed his guard further, stepping in to take Gargan's hand with his remaining right hand. The two grasped each other's forearms firmly and looked into each other's eyes with a nod. Thonavar's silver against the red of Gargan's guantlets.
"You too fought well Gargan. Few can match your strength. We are both victors today", said Thonavar, his eyes shining with warmth. "With this handshake, I shall forget our conflict and start our friendship anew.
"Indeed", agreed Gargan, his face suddenly lightning up with a twisted smile of delight.
From high up above, Lord Damon and Felix Vanyaga could only watch, unable to shout a warning, and unable to intervene, prevented by the rules of the Fury from becoming personally involved.
There was another sickening crack as Gargan gripped Thonavar's limp wrist, twisting it savagely. Thonavar spun in the air from the force of the twist before hitting the ground hard. His world spun, and for a moment, he did not know what was going on. He tried to get up by pushing his arms against the floor but pain wracked his body, and he almost lost consciousness. The world around him threatened to grow dark but he fought against it desperately.
Another powerful kick into the side of Thonavar's ribs drew whispers of dismay from the onlooking crowd. A pair of golden-orange eyes turned away, unable to watch what would next transpire.
"Get up you bastard", breathed Gargan, his red face bulging with a mix of exertion and smugness. He chuckled to himself. "You thought you had bested me? Ha!"
Gargan dragged Thonavar from the floor by his hair, and this time, a muffled cry issued from his lips.
"Understand this", said Gargan, as he brought Thonavar's face level with his. "I am Gargan Beefheart. Remember this day. You will never fight again. And you will never best me."
And with that, Gargan flung Thonavar's limp body out from the inner circle. As Thonavar flew through the air, his world darkened and this time, he gave in. Thonavar smashed into a stone pillar, chest-first, breaking a number of ribs in the process. He was already unconscious as his body rolled to the floor, slumping in an awkward angle. There was a flurry of activity as automatons carrying medipacks and blackrobed figures from the houses of healing flew to his side.
Meanwhile, within the inner circle, Gargan raised his fists to a silent crowd. None cheered him. A deathly silence reigned.
Gargan's smile evaporated, replaced by a look of defiance. Slowly, the crowd began to dissipate, ignoring the victor standing in the inner circle.
The Fury was over.
Up above, on the hovering platform, a pale-faced Felix, stood beside a silent Lord Damon as Lord Beefheart whooped and clapped, chuckling loudly to himself.
"What did I tell you, Damon? You thought the boy had a chance? Against Gargan? Ha! He is finished now I tell you. Smart of m'boy to break both his wrists. He might never fight again!"
A muscle in Felix's cheek twitched and his hand strayed into within his robes. But Lord Damon touched Felix's hand lightly.
"Let us not tarry any longer. Declare the champion", said Lord Damon softly, standing to his feet, his hands clasped before him as Felix disappeared from sight. The sonorous voice of the automaton resounded throughout the hall, reverberating from the towering pillars of dark stone.
"Gargan Beefheart defeated Thonavar Ironhand", said the voice of the automaton.
"Gargan Beefheart is Champion of the Fury."