Chapter 1: Welcome to the GSA - Part 1

A bump from the dirt road roused Spike from his half-remembered dream. Groggy, and head sore from the plastic bed of the pickup truck, he pulled the tarp from his face and adjusted his eyes to a hazy-gray Texas sky. The tarp in the back of the truck was a necessity, to keep the sun from turning him lobster red, but it was stifling beneath it, resulting in a vicious cycle of alternating between fresh air and shade.

An undershirt and torn jeans, caked with sweat and dirt—the crew of the Merlin would have thrown Spike  overboard to see him in such a state. Plus, he couldn’t remember his last haircut. It was down to below his ears now, giving him the dishevelled look of a warrior angel that had just been kicked out of Heaven and into the dust. On top of all that, Spike could not recall the last time he had gotten a full night’s sleep since his journey first began. Though Colt’s league was prolific, seems he preferred his training academy just beyond city limits.

Spike looked over the side of the truck bed, at fields that stretched on into the horizon. Everything was so flat out here, the sky much wider, lack of skyscrapers aside. What Spike initially mistook for bushes, turned out to be clusters of paddle shaped cacti. All of it reminded him that this really was a whole other world, let alone a different country.

An arrangement of buildings came into view—though it took another ten minutes or so before Spike could make out any details. Looked to him like a typical, western style ranch, with a series of farm houses and large barns ringed with a corral. It was an otherwise humble affair for one of the rising, spellbreaking federations on the market, but Spike knew what he was looking at right away.

The truck slowed to a stop, trailing dust. Spike took in the sight of the ranch gates, a beautiful wooden archway capped with an iron-wrought globe with a a five pointed star in the center—the Global Spell breaking Alliance log. Spike gulped. Reality was beginning to sink in, though any spiral into anxiety and self-doubt was mercifully cut short by the twangy, affable voice coming from the driver side window.

“Y’all okay back there?”

Spike turned to see a babyfaced young man, only two or three years younger than him, poke his head from the window. Billy Wheeler was not a spellbreaker (no magick to speak of) but he was most definitely a thick, little country boy. He and his family were, essentially, ranch hands.

Spike heeded Mr. Iron’s advice “Don’t shit where you eat!”. Granted, he sensed it might be a difficult creed to live by once he was surrounded by so many ripped, sexy beefcakes.

“Thank you, Billy,” Spike said sweetly, hoisting himself out of the car (and nearly tripping over himself in the country dust). “You sure you don’t want any cash for the trouble?”

“Maybe a drink sometime,” the country boy said with a sly wink.

Spike shoved his hands in his jeans, kicking the dirt playfully—a deliberately coquettish gesture. “Hey, as long as it’s on me.”

 “I gotta scoot back into town to pick up some groceries. Take care of yourself. Don’t let Colt break you too much now, you hear? But if he does, see my dad. He’s the infirmary nurse.” With that, the cowboy turned the ignition and drove off down the barren road.

Unfortunately, Spike didn’t have much time to dwell on possible escapades with his new, sexy ranch hand. Someone was approaching.

“As long as it’s one me? Heh. Smooth. Real smooth.” The accent was most definitely Texan, with a dusting of Mexican-Spanish, both boyish and feminine.

Spike turned around to find a muscular young woman smirking at him from beneath the ranch gate. She wore a red blouse, contrasting beautifully with her darker complexion, and black capris. Her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and she was maybe only an inch taller than Spike.

Spike tried to suppress the slow, reddening of his cheeks. Caught in the act. He scratched his head, boyishly. “Oh, I was just being nice. Hehe.”

“Mmmm,” the girl—or rather, woman—said, looking him over. She had to be right around his age. She was gorgeous, and there was something about her aura that Spike found strangely calming, even if she was teasing him. “Sure, rookie. We all know the ranch hand is cute. Either you have good taste or you’re just a slut.” She shrugged. “I support either.”

Admittedly, Spike was confused. He knew it would have been too much for Colt to fetch him personally, but he expected someone a lot more…imposing at the gates. Did this chick work for the boss man? “Are you…like—”

The young woman threw him a challenging glance, and folded her arms. “Like…?”

“I…uhh…” He knew if he said the word, ‘secretary’ or ‘assistant’, he was bound to be toast—he sensed magick on her, and powerful magic at that. She was like a warmer, more outgoing version of Varla. “I’m Spike,” he said, friendly enough, extending his hand. “Well, Sam. But Spike is what most people call me.”

Thankfully, she took it her. She had a strong grip, but her hands were soft. Warm. “I didn’t realize we were hiring more male models,” she said—again, a cutting remark delivered so sweetly. “I’m Rosa. Reina Rosa in the ring.”

Spike’s heart leaped. He looked her over. “Oh, you’re a spellbreaker?”

“Does this surprise you?” She said it confidently enough, but with an undercurrent of defense.

Spike understood her attitude perfectly. His was a different dilemma, of course, but he knew what it was like to be questioned. “No, it’s actually pretty cool!” he said with genuine enthusiasm.

She laughed, though he wasn’t sure if it was at him or with him. “This is where they usually say, ‘I didn’t know they had many lady spellbreakers’”

“Oh no, I love lady spellbreakers—well, mostly their outfits! All the glamour. Trust me, I’m a fan of a lady kicking ass.”

She motioned for him to follow, presumably towards the row of buildings in the distance—what looked to Spike like midway between a homestead and a sort of recreational summer camp. “How was your flight. You’re from New York, right?”

“A bit of everywhere, but yeah. What about you?”

“Mexico City, but that’s when I was a little girl. My cousin got signed here a few years ago, and I’m…well…a rookie like you, I guess.” She laughed. Spike was immediately put at ease. “You’ll meet him soon enough. He’s a prettyboy lug like you are, so you’ll probably get along. Or…tear each other apart. I guess we will see.”

Spike didn’t know what it was like to have siblings, but there was something decidedly ‘sisterly’ about Rosa’s personality. Every compliment or flicker of interest was followed by a friendly barb. For the right person, Spike didn’t mind being teased, especially by a cute girl. Cute, and—he sensed—very, very strong.

Now, Spike would be the first to admit his observational skills were…well…lacking, but he noticed something very unusual as he followed behind the young woman in the red blouse. With every footfall, little blades of grass appeared in the outline of her shoeprint. At first he thought he was just sleep deprived or dehydrated—probably a bit of both—but then it became unmistakable. Grass appeared in her footsteps before fading to brown, then to dust, all within the span of seconds. This wasn’t just magick, but ambient magick.

“I’ve been saddled with showing you around,” Rosa said as they approached the quadrangle. Spike was reminded of old cowboy flicks, with the typical “main street” where villain and hero would shoot out at noon. “So, I guess I better do that, huh?”

Spike realized that, aside from shaking her hand, his own hands had not left his pockets this whole time. “I’d appreciate it,” he said shyly.

“Don’t be so nervous.”

Damn, she has my number! “Who said I was nervous?” Spike said, removing his hands and stiffening his back. He tried to make himself look bigger. “I mean…come on…look at me. Does this look like the physique of a coward?” He gave her a little flex, swollen biceps peaking out from his white, cotton shirt. With a little bit of sweat and dirt, he suspected that he cut a rather masculine figure.

Rosa did not agree. “Yeah, you’re nervous. You’re okay though—I don’t beat up boys outside the ring.” She thought to herself for a moment. “Well, as long as they don’t piss me off. But I don’t think you will.”

Two young men in an animated conversation walked out from a large, warehouse-sized building in front of them. Spike clocked them as also being around his age—or at least one of them, as the other was wearing a shocking blue luchador mask, adorned with draconic fins. He looked like a venomous sea creature, but his bright eyes suggested a spritely personality. His friend, a dark skinned South Asian guy in a tidy button-up, was boyish and handsome, with short-cropped hair. Spike was mostly glad to see other guys with his physique and stature.

“That’s Blue Dragon and Sanjay,” Rosa whispered. “They’re at our level. You’ll meet them later. They’ve probably wrapped up drills and are heading to the mess hall, otherwise I’d introduce you. The guys here can get really princessy when they’re hungry…”

“Hmmm. I think I can guess which one is Blue Dragon,” Spike said.

 Rosa  smiled at him, and Spike—though humbled—was nevertheless reassured. She gestured to a large building behind her. It reminded Spike of one of the dockyard warehouses. “Ready to see the ring?”

 

“Oh, wow!”

As soon as Spike took in the sight of the ring room, he knew he’d been upgraded from rookie status to…still rookie status, but with much better room and board. For one, the ring floor was carpeted, instead of cracked concrete. The ring looked fresh and professional, not haphazardly strung together from bits of junk. Best of all though, no odd, unidentifiably smells—or light fixtures that looked like they could drop from the ceiling at any time.

It was also abundantly clear that Colt had taken special care to give this room his signature, reminding everyone he still ruled the roost. The GSA logo covered most of the carpet in front of the grand ring, its ropes interlaced with cleanly woven runes. Posters of spellbreaking champions and icons rang the walls, as well as bits and pieces of spellbreaking paraphernalia—cases of action figures, t-shirts, and old gear. It was much as a museum as it was a training space, and Spike would have gladly paid entry. The ring room’s crown jewel, the absolute centerpiece of this arrangement, were Colt’s prized championship belts, hung with particular care, and high enough that mortal hands could not hope to touch them. They were the focal point for anybody graciously welcomed into this sacred space.

Spike was so overwhelmed by prestige that he nearly missed the two actual spellbreakers training in the ring, until a heavy grunt, and the sound of bodies colliding drew his focus to the combatants. His heart skipped a beat, though certain other parts of his body made up for the lapsed pulse. It was then that spike knew he stood in the presence of titans.

The spellbreaker farthest from Spike had the most sculpted build of any man he had ever seen. It was almost a shame, then, that his face was obscured by a mask. He was probably a spellbreaker from Mexico—there was a tradition of enchantment there, wherein spellbreakers infused their masks with the magick of their predecessors, passing them down to appointed heirs. Spike’s glyphic studies had only recently begun, and the concept of ambient magick—or enchantment—was well beyond his scope, but he appreciated and respected the legacy and tradition of the masked fighters.

This mask in question was purple, and square in the center was a bleeding heart, with two slanted ‘blood drops’ outlining the eyeholes. Spike found the feminine coloring a sensual contrast to the fighter’s masculine, godly build. His hair was long, flowing freely from the back, and matted from working up a sweat. Indeed, his whole body glistened as if he was made of polished, untarnished copper. His brief-cut trunks looked to be clinging on to dear life—bulging to bursting at the front, and the man’s buttocks was so firm that it peeked out from the edges of his gear. If not for the heart symbol generously covering the crotch, Spike thought he would be almost too indecent for television.

Spike was instantly smitten. So much so that he almost failed to realize that the masked spellbreaker’s opponent was just as much as a stud, if not more. Whereas the masked spellbreaker was an Aztec god, his opponent may as well have come from a rival pantheon—Roman, by the looks of aquiline nose and black, curly hair (not to mention the generous heaping of hair over his boulder-like pectorals). Spike channeled his knowledge of mythologies and decided that the fighter looked like if Hercules and Bacchus had somehow produced a son. Knowing the Greco-Roman god’s penchant for gender fluidity, it was entirely possible).

This spellbreaker’s gear—what little thereof anyway—was even more unique than his rival’s. He wore a kind of gladiatorial skirt that, nevertheless, left his leopard-print posing pouch exposed. Curiously, the straps of his Gladiatorial, sandal-inspired boots—and his arm bands—were made of what appeared to be actual vines, giving him the appearance of a statue come to life amidst overgrown ruins.

 The turnbuckle runes did not shimmer as the spellbreakers locked up, indicating magickal restraint. No magic, just muscle. Almost a shame, Spike thought, that he wouldn’t witness the contenders testing their abilities—but this was fine. He had never seen men with such builds in top form, grappling with precision and power. It was like watching two charging bulls lock horns. The masked spellbreaker was nimbler and more technical, whereas the man in leopard print had a very traditional move style, befitting his Greco-Roman aesthetic.

“Be careful, rookie,” Rosa said, snapping Spike out of his hunk-induced trance. “Keep staring like that and your eyes might fall out of your skull.” She pointed to the man with the heart motifs on his gear. “That’s Victor. Calls himself ‘Guerrero Del Amor’.” She said this with an eyeroll so deep Spike could almost hear it.

“Warrior of Love?” Spike translated, and Rosa nodded approvingly in responce. “Hm. I thought was my title.”

“Victor and I are…related,” Rosa sighed. “He is my cousin, much to my embarrassment. Spellbreaking runs in the family. Anyways, that big hairy guy giving my cousin the work is Giovanni. Or Gio. His family owns a vineyard back in Italy.” She cupped her hand to her mouth and whispered. “Rumors has it he’s done a lot of those jungle mand and sword and sandle B-movies in Italy. He’s very sweet but…he’s always challenging people to wrestle him. Naked.”

Spike had to stop himself from drooling. “And this is a problem, how?” Rising up from the tides of primal lust, however, Spike narrowed his eyes at the stunning, godly Gio. Wait…I think I’ve watched one of his movies before. ‘Watch’ being the more appropriate interpretation.

In the ring, Victor went for a takedown, but Gio caught his shoulders, forcing him down and into a body scoop. Spike couldn’t imagine how much Victor weighed, nor the strength it would take to even lift such a man, but Gio made it look easy. With his opponent in the air, the Roman gladiator roared and slammed him into the canvas with a mighty force, then covered his stunned opponent with a pin. Spike couldn’t decide who he envied more out of the two of them.

Thankfully, Victor was no worse for wear. Gio helped the Mexican stud to his feet, and then graciously shook his hand. Only then did the fighters notice the impromptu crowd gathered to watch them lock muscles.

“Hey Rosita,” Victor said. His voice was deep, musical, and rough. Spike wondered if he was a smoker, and not just a smoke-show. His eyes, reflections of sunlight on dark water, glimmered behind his mask. “And who is this beautiful angel of a man, who has set even the Warrior of Love’s heart aflame!?”

It took Spike an embarrassing amount of time before he realized the spellbreaker was referring to him. Rosa nudged him in the ribs. “Huh? What? Me?” His felt his blood flow to his cheeks, turning bashful red. “But go on. I’m Spike! I’m the new guy.”

The two giant slid through the ropes and hopped off the apron with athletic grace. They were even more imposing up close. Spike’s eyes flicked down to their legs—larger than some of the trees he’d seen in the parks back home. He couldn’t even imagine being caught in a scissor or body hold from either of them.

Actually, he could. And he did.

“Your hair is like feathers,” Victor said, shaking Spike’s hand tenderly. “So pretty!”

Just his touch alone was electric, but when Spike caught a whiff of his cologne—or deodorant—he thought he might faint. “I’m…wow…” He couldn’t even meet his eyes, fearing he might swoon again like he did for Colt.

Spike didn’t even notice when the masked man let his wrist go—he could have stood there shaking it for hours, for all Spike cared. But not wanting to seem rude—or look as if he was playing favorites—Spike extended his hand to Gio, who nearly shoved Vincent out of the way to take his spot.

Instead of a business-man-like handshake, however, Gio took Spike’s hand and brought it to his face. Before Spike knew what was happening, the Italian gentleman kissed the back of his hand, so delicately that he barely felt a thing.

“You…are like the angel,” he said. His voice was higher, more feminine than he expected, which was somehow even more attractive.

I’m glad I wore loose fitting jeans today, Spike thought as he tried to keep himself from falling into either of these god’s arms. He couldn’t imagine fighting either of them, not because they were skilled and stronger, but because he would probably lose on purpose.

“Easy, boys,” Rosa, said—subtly wedging herself between Spike and his new teammates. “Don’t just dig into the fresh meat.” She put her finger up before Victor could challenge her. “Uhp! No. Nada! I know that look Victor Manuel Conrado Espinoza. Don’t even think about it.”

Oooh, the ‘full-name finisher’, Spike winced. Yep, they were family alright.

The long haired spellbreaker dramatically placed his forehand to his brow. “All my names, Rosita? So cruel! How will I recover?”

“So it is you who are the new hire!” Gio interjected, suddenly putting two-and-two together. He looked Spike over, up and down, pinching his fingers together in front of his eyes, in line with Spike’s arms. “Hm. I was expected much bigger. Much bigger muscles. And not so short.” He smirked, and then—Spike’s heart be still—he flexed both of his biceps, veins popping and vine-woven arm bands snapping in two. “Like mine.”

Spike clenched his teeth together, willing his body to stop itself from doing something embarrassing and involuntarily. He turned to Rosa and said, “Yeah I think I’ll be fine here.” But then, as the initial “muscle shock” subsided, Spike realized that he had just been talked down to. He whipped his head to Gio, patiently waiting for Spike’s reaction. “Hey, wait! Did you just call me…short?”

Inside Spike’s mind, a lion roared. Let me at ‘em! LET ME AT ‘EM!

Gio nodded, thumb on his chin. “Hm. Yes, I think so. So tiny. Very small. Very pretty.”

“I have plenty of muscle!” Spike shout back, making even Rosa flinch. Victor and Gio just smiled—watching a puppy bark at them. “And just because I may not be as big as you two guys doesn’t mean I can’t throw down.” He held up a fist.

It was true, of course, that Spike was more muscular than most men his age—one only need look at him and his tightly fitting shirts (and peaky biceps) to see that. But compared to these gods, Spike felt like a mere mortal.

“Now that sounds like a challenge!” Vincent shouted, with great excitement. He loomed over Spike, grinning down at him—albeit not maliciously—but with a confidence that suggested he could absolutely squash him like an insect right then and there. “Why not step in and take us both on at the same time, little feathery hair?”

“You mean like in a fight, right?” Spike blinked.

Before either Vincent or Gio could clarify, Rosa grabbed him forcibly by the hand and dragged him off in a different direction—she was quite strong! “Not now,” she said through clenched teeth. “Come on, let’s keep the tour going.”

Spike couldn’t even begin to free himself from the iron-grip she had on his wrist. He felt like a scolded child being dragged off by one of the Sisters for time out. Humiliated, and in front of the two most gorgeous men he had ever set eyes on! Gio and Vincent turned to each other and smirked, slapping each other on the back—the sound of their hand against their thick bodies briefly put Spike back in his “ah, muscles” trance again. He felt himself compelled to drool, even as he was pulled back out the door.

As he drank in the last sight of his teammates again, he heard Rosa mutter under her breath. “Nothing but horn dogs in this damn place. I swear…”

“Okay, here’s the gym. It’s 24/7. Just don’t break anything or drop the—”

Clunk!

The padded floor of the converted barn shook beneath Rosa and Spike’s feet.

“W-what that an earthquake?” Spike gasped.

“No. It was a woman.”

 The rookie spellbreaker craned his head over the forest of weight machines and loose assortments of dumbbells, but he didn’t need to stretch his neck far to see the absolute Amazon of a woman drop her barbell to the floor. Clad in a red leotard and white tights, the giantess dusted off her palms and surveyed her work with pride.

“Liuliu over here is our fitness coach,” Rosa said, nudging Spike closer to the bodybuilder. “She’s not a spellbreaker, but she is tough.”

And pretty, Spike thought. The Asian woman had short, black hair, pulled back. Much like Varla, she could be anywhere between forty and sixty—simply timeless and well kept. Her round, moon-shaped face gave her a soft tone, in contrast to her hefty build.

Spike looked down at the bar splayed at the fitness coach’s feet. No more plates could fit on it. “Is that 400 pounds?” he asked, trying to keep his jaw from falling to the floor again.

“Low weight, high rep!” Liuliu winked. Spike felt immediately calmed in her presence. A giant woman! What could be better? Well, besides a giant man (or two).

Liuliu reached down and patted him on the head before he could protest. He gladly let her. “Ah, Rosa, I want to put him in my pocket! Don’t worry, little one, we will whip you into shape in no time! You should take him to the dining hall and start feeding him right away so he can start to put on some bulk.” With that, she leaned over, grunted, and hoisted the 400 pound barbell clean onto her shoulders.

Spike shied away from her, as one would do to a tree about to fall in the middle of the woods. Liuliu seemed perfectly affable (and he was glad that this place wasn’t exclusively the boys club he imagined it might be), but it was a rare thing for Spike to feel self-conscious about his body. Via a combination of navy training, general fitness, his love of food, and the blessing of his glyph (which always added a bit more bulk) Spike had always felt strong and athletic. But now he was beginning to see himself as the run of the litter. For all of the powers his glyph bestowed on him, he had to work out twice as hard to maintain figure (and eat just as much too). The prospect of getting to Victor and Gio’s level now towered mountainously above him.

Any further spirals into self-doubt and insecurity were thankfully cut short by Rosa’s constant talking and impeccable tour guiding skills. She led him away from Liuliu the Great.

“Liuliu is sort of everybody’s aunty,” Rosa said, smiling. “She’s always making sure we’re fed.”

Two things had gotten Spike this far in life: his great butt, and his impeccable judge of character. While he couldn’t do algebra to save his life, he had never been wrong about getting to know someone. Thus far, every face he’d met in the last hour had given him positive vibes. But those anxieties he’d felt before his match—being able to perform or do well at spellbreaking—were starting to scurry back in, like rats coming up from the cellar.

Spike wanted to be strong and to appear tough. Yet, he couldn’t help but confide in Rosa as they dipped closer to the benches outside the locker room area. “I feel like I’m a lot smaller than everyone he—”

He never finished the sentence. At first, he thought he was seeing things, or misplacing faces. That stocky, pale, red-head on the bench, lacing up his boots…it couldn’t be. But it was. The Faeblood Brawler himself. Cian Enbarr, the hunky Irish guy with the bad attitude who had been absolutely demolished by Ryan Hartley. Here he was, very much not dead—soma be praised.

Spike did a double take. He couldn’t believe it. This was nearly the same way they first met back in the Atlas Arena locker rooms. He turned his face, to look away and avoid a potentially awkward situation. But it was too late. Just as he did, Cian poked his head up and met his gaze dead on. Spike froze. Confused, but patient, Rosa did the same.

“Oh lordy,” Cian said, with his charming accent. “It’s you.”

Spike panicked, but beneath the panic, there was a bit of genuine excitement as well. A familiar face was always welcome—especially one attached to a body that was nearly the same athletic level as his own. “Cian!” Spike said, forcing himself to sound enthusiastic. “I…didn’t expect to see you here. Or…alive, for that matter. But I am glad you are!”

Rosa looked between the two of them. “You two know each other?”

Cian ignored her, instead jacking his thumb confidently at his chest. “Will take a lot more than some stupid football player to keep down this Celtic Warrior.” He snorted. “Heard you won. Heh. Sounds like dumb luck to me.”

Ah, I was afraid of this. Spike forced a grin but couldn’t help but scratch his head—a nervous gesture. “Ouch…”

Fortunately, Rosa was there to keep the peace. “Cian, don’t be a brat.” She really called it like she saw it! Spike admired that. He knew he could trust Rosa—she was far too blunt to ever be underhanded.

The boy in the black singlet crossed his arms—and Spike, unable to control himself—couldn’t help but admire how nicely Cian’s pecs forced his singlet straps to stick out. Or his very, very obvious bulge.

Cian snorted. “We’ll, we’ll see how you do when you lock up with me, eh, boyo?”

Spike couldn’t decide if the thought made him horny, or if he was just eager to scrap. He never backed down from a challenge though, and Cian’s attitude was starting to grate on him. He was just so damn rude for no reason!

“I look forward to it, ya red-headed putz!” Spike did his best to puff out his chest, stand tall, and look intimidating. “Seems like you have something to prove. Well, so do I. You ever want to tangle with the Sailor stud, you can come find me at…” He looked to Rosa.

“The Orion Dorms, Block C.”

“THE ORION DORMS, BLOCK C!” Spike huffed, as if he was shouting a threat to his opponent through the ring mic. “Any time is anchor time!”

“Not after curfew…”

Spike made a slit throat motion with his fingers on his neck. “But not after curfew. You hear that, bucko!?”

Cian snorted again, nonplussed by the threat, and stood up. There was even a moment where Spike thought he might get in his face or do something rash. Thankfully, the other rookie turned on his heels and disappeared into the locker room, leaving Spike and Rosa to their peace.

Spike would have rather not spent another minute on Cian. Half out of spite, half out of boredom, Spike decided that—henceforth—Cian was now his eternal rival. He burned with a desire to face him in the ring and teach him a lesson! Still, he had questions about how a big, dumb jerk like that had somehow crawled his way into the GSA. And, as Rosa graciously led Spike to the brick building at the periphery of the ranch, she was happy to answer them.

Turns out that Colt had been ringside that fateful night a month ago, talent scouting. Rosa pulled no punches in telling Spike that Cian had been Colt’s first pick, a fact that instantly got Spike hot under the collar, though he didn’t admit it out loud. But when Cian had been smeared into the canvas by that asshole football player, Colt had taken notice of Spike instead. Still, he had two spots open on the GSA roster, and he’d decided both Cian and Spike would fill them out. Apparently, Colt was rather impulsive in his business practices, often taking risks based on gut feelings that were—more times than not—the right calls.

“Probably because Colt’s a Sagittarius,” Rosa said off-handedly. “All cowboy. All horse.” She paused for a moment, a flash of curiosity dancing across her lovely, dark eyes. “What are you?”

“Me?” Spike, lost in the Texan blue sky—a far-cry from the haze of New York—suddenly came back down to reality. He felt put on the spot. “Oh. A Leo.” He curled his dingers into claws and said, “Rawr.”

“Explains the great hair,” Rosa said, as if this was the most accurate indicator ever. “And the need for attention…”

Spike had to admire her confidence. He was honestly tickled to find that this very serious, sarcastic woman had her own set of quirks. “You really into woo-woo stuff like that? Crystals? Horoscopes?”

She laughed away the accusations, an expert in defense. “You literally channel people’s energy into power, and you’re calling something like that woo woo?”

“You know my glyph?” Spike asked. He wasn’t offended, just surprised.

“Usually, spellbreakers keep that sort of thing close to their chest,” Rosa explained. “But we’re a bit more open here since we’re training together. To be honest, I find knowing an opponent’s glyph doesn’t really change battle strategy all that much. People think glyphs are the be-all-end-all to magick, but I think that’s bullshit.”

In this sport, the last thing you wanted to do was expose a vulnerability, but Spike knew enough of Rosa in their short time together that he could trust her. “I don’t know much about magick anyway. A lot of people with the ‘gift’ get taught how to use it in school, but I slipped through the cracks.”

Rosa pulled the door open for him and ushered him inside with her eyes. “Better off you’re a blank slate. You’ll learn that magick isn’t universal. My grandmother—Vic’s grandmother too—was a curandera, a healing witch. We approach magick differently in Mexico. I’m also into fortune telling as a hobby, here or there. This here is Orion House. Your dorm.”

Spike suddenly remembered the card reader from back in Manhattan. But he said nothing. Besides, he was more taken up with the dorm. There was a common area in the center, and four sets of stairways branching off towards different halls. A lot of concrete bricks and halogen lighting—pretty utilitarian—but so much cleaner and better kept than poor St. Magnus.

“I think astrology is mostly bullshit,” Rosa continued, leading down the right-hand staircase. “But it’s cool to see what syncs up. I’m a Cancer, by the way.”

Spike grinned sheepishly. “I…don’t know what that means.”

“Don’t worry about it. And don’t worry about Cian either. Or, rather, don’t let him get to you—he’s a rookie too.” She swivelled her head around, trying to decide which of the five doors was the right one. “Now, let’s see. Which weirdo do we have you rooming with again?”

Caught up in a million other insecurities as he was, Spike hadn’t even considered living with others. “Oh…I don’t have a private room?”

“Ha! Colt is way too cheap for single dorms, my friend.”

It wasn’t a huge imposition. After all, Spike had spent most of his life living with other people. Still, a bit of privacy was always preferred. He was still heated about Cian anyway to care about dorm stuff. That snippy, little spark-plug had really gotten under his skin.

“Something wrong?”

Spike grit his teeth, “Just thinking back to Cian’s stupid, smug face!” He pounded his fist inside his other palm, to make a point. “And I have a cure for that smugness—a few good smacks to the head followed by an ‘Anchors Away’ body splash! Heh. See if he calls me sissy again…” He met Rosa’s incredulous stare. “What? I’m going to sit on him.”

She laughed away the threat. “You know, you’re easy to rile up, cutie. Be careful. That could cost you in the ring. Half the battle is psychological.”

It was far too late to hold it back—all of Spike’s worries had welled up, and the dam was full to bursting. And, as Rosa was the first person he’d trusted today, she was about to get the brunt of the deluge. “I just feel like I’m nowhere near the size of these guys!” Spike said, before he caught himself. “Or gals!”

As he said this, a door in the middle of the hallway swung open, releasing a pleasant mist of shower vapor and the scent of oranges and florals. Suddenly, the doorframe was completely obscured by the enormous body of a hefty, young man with a solid belly, muscles, and naught but a bath towel wrapped around his wide frame.

Spike blinked. “Case in point…”

The sweet-faced man, caught up in his own follies, realized there were two other people with him in the hallway, and jumped back in shock—a jump made a little too forceful, as the surprise caused his towel to slip from his giant waist, right onto the floor.

Thankfully, his hands moved quicker than Spike’s eyes, and the big, Asian man was quick to cover the essential parts before Spike could run a diagnostic. The poor, naked man had a tan complexion, but his face shifted into the most crimson red Spike had ever seen.

“OH NOOO!” he yelped, echoing off the concrete hallway. “I’m so embarrassed! Don’t look at me!” With a free hand, he snatched the towel from the floor. Spike marvelled at the grace and speed of a man that size, as the poor, near-naked man dipped back into the bathroom, hiding himself. “Now I cannot come out ever again! I guess I will have to live in the bathroom. But how will my friends be able to shower? Oh no, this is so inconvenient for everybody...”

“Oh wow.” Spike said, feeling his eyes form into the shape of two beating hearts. “Him…him BIG!” Whereas Victor had been a sex god wrought from molten gold, and Gio thick and furry, this handsome sumo was a juicy, big bear of a boy. On one hand, Spike was happy to see a diversity of body types (even if they trended different flavors of ‘big’) On the other hand…this was starting to resemble more of an all-you-can eat buffet than a spellbreaking school.

Rosa jumped into damage control mode. “It’s ok, Kengo, just put your towel back on! Honestly, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before.” She whispered to Spike. “That’s Kengo. Kuma Kengo. He’s come to us all the way from Japan. He’s a big sweetheart but he’s so shy. He’s an absolute powerhouse but absolutely terrified of stepping into the ring in his gear. An ongoing project.”

The young woman stepped closer to the bathroom entrance, and Spike decided it was best for her to take control of the situation. “Hey, big guy, don’t you want to meet your new roommate?”

Spike looked over at Rosa. “He’s my roommate?”

Any answer to the question was cut off by another loud yelp.  “WHAT!? HIM!?” N-n-no, Rosa. I am not going to come out. He is so…he’s so pretty.”

Spike could tell Rosa did not have the patience for this situation, and that it wasn’t the first time something like this had happened either. “Uh, Kuma, he is standing right here.”

They were getting nowhere fast. Spike cleared his throat, careful not to step into view and scare the giant man off again. “Hey, Kengo was it? I’m Spike. Don’t worry about being shy. If anything, I’m the one who’s intimidated but everyone else here.” This was the truth. “You’re all just so...big and muscular. And honestly, Kengo, you’re really, really handsome.”

A long paused followed, and for a moment, Spike wondered if he’d made things worse. Then, “R-r-really? Oh, but now I definitely cannot come out! He’s too nice.”

Rosa sighed. She motioned back towards the exit.  “Let’s…maybe give K-man some time to get dressed and wind down. Is that okay? I was going to take you to the mess hall next.”

“Thanks,” Spike said, grateful his roommate wasn’t some problem-child like Cian. Shyness? Well, Spike could work with that. Best to get things started off on the right foot anyway. “Hey, Kuma Kengo? Can I get you anything to eat from the dining hall?”

From the bathroom: “W-what? Oh…wow. You are so kind! No, I couldn’t possibly ask my new—gorgeous—roommate to get me something.”

Rosa pushed Spike towards the stairs. “Come on, or we’ll be here forever. Let’s get some grub.”

But I wanted to see my room, Spike thought to say. Then again, he didn’t want Kengo to hide in the bathroom forever, and perhaps coming back to change into clothing would prove too much too soon in front of him. It was so odd though—here Spike was, worried he wasn’t big enough, when perhaps the largest of the lot of them was too afraid to be seen at all. Seemed to Spike like there were a few guys here—including himself—who were fighting battles with opponents within, just as much as they were in the actual ring.

NEXT CHAPTER!