Gio of the Jungle!

Spike: Gio, I got it! I got that saucy, cut clip from your movie!

Gio: Wow, 'The Power of the Jungle King'! This is one of my first films. Good job, beautiful Spike. How did you manage it?

Spike: I had to make a deal with the guy who runs the naughty films cinema in town. Less questions the better. Point is, I got this. Fire up the popcorn and let's watch you be a sexy jungle stud.

Gio: Hahaha, sounds good! Playing Darr, the Jungle King, was a lot of fun! But, just know...I am a little shy when other people watch my work!

Spike: I totally understand! Cuddle up and watch?

Gio: Sounds like a perfect evening to me!

The Power of the Jungle King

It is a time of barbarism and strife.

Across the forested savannahs of the Land of K'hemrum. Yet, oases of civilization stand as beacons amid the darkness. In the Kingdom of Nuadd, Emperor Tarqan--as wise as he is mighty--rules with compassion and strength, behind greats walls of solid gold. Ever prudent, the king has forged alliance with the 'untameable' and formidable People of the Deep Green; the tribes of the forest presided over by 'Jungle King' Darr, son of the Unifier, his father. Though many of Tarqan's subjects balk at this treaty with so-called 'savages', the two lords share an amiable and unbreakable bond, an iron truce vital against the encroachment of the dark magick worshipping and cannibalistic Shemhadzzians, who threaten all of K'hemrum with their bloodthirsty ways....

In the palace of beautiful and strong Nuadd, a lofty, sand-stone manse lined with towering, painted pillars, the good King seeks audience with Darr, his friend and former sparring partner. On throne of carved gold sits this giant of men, with muscles wrought of iron, skin the color of night, and eyes the same sheen as the golden jewellery and adornment that line his intimidating form. Oiled with rare herbal tinctures, he resembles a statue of a divinity. Though mere men would tremble to look upon him, his eyes are intelligent, and his smile kind. He is a father to many.

At his side stands Brai, sinewy and clad in the skins of game; attire most foreign to him. Tall and lean, with sun-kissed, copper skin, the youth of eighteen-years is a son of neither Nuadd nor the lush realms of Deep Green. His are a people fallen. He is a survivor, his life forged in fire. Rescued by the good King, and raised as both warrior and scholar, he shares a table with the King's sonsl; has been reared in their ways. Brai stands tall and eager, though there is an undeniable awkwardness about him, especially in the way he tugs at the ceremonial skins granted to him. Perhaps they show off too much of his own flesh and muscle. Though always ready for a scrap, Brai is somewhat prone to shyness.

Today, an arrangement has been made. Two strong sons and a daughter the King has born, yet they are duty-bound to the kingdom. In lieu, and after great discussion, Brai is chosen as a 'gift' to the Jungle King. Far from a body servant or mere concubine, Brai is to taken on as apprentice to the mighty king Darr.

The young man has laid eyes on the 'terror of the Green' before. His image is burned in his memory, etched, like the ash paint used for the palace murals. Still, to look upon great Darr as he swaggers proudly into the audience chamber....it makes Brai's heart beat faster, and his eyes turned downcast. How could he prove himself worthy to such a god?

Darr, olive of skin, knotted with muscle, and clad only in the loin breeches of the man-eating leopard he slew as a promise to his people, stands before the two men. Curled, deep brown hair lines his head. Despite his feral origins, his beard is well-kept (a by product of his brush with Tarqan, insistent on male grooming). He portrays an intimidating appearance, with chest covered in thick fur, and arms and legs that have been known to crush the bones of wild beasts (and men). His eyes sparkle like the stars at night. An ever present, slight smile crosses his handsome face. Far from stoic, the 'Beast King of the Great Green' shows his inner joy proudly.

He bows for none. Except, of course, for Tarqan. Even so, there is a playfulness to it. As Darr kneels, Brai's eyes follow the slight breeze beneath his loin cloth. The young warrior blushes when he spies what lay beneath. 

"Stand, you beast!" Tarqan laughs, low and resonate, as he himself springs up from his throne to embrace his friend. "I will not have you stoop as a subject does!"

"Ah," the wily jungle man replied, gripping his beautiful friend in a tight embrace, "yet the respect is thine, good friend. It has been far too long."

Though he is a wild man by heart, Darr is well-learned in the tongue of Nuadd. Gods know that Tarqan, whose eyes light up at the mention of his ally, always prattles on about how Darr's mind is sharp and attuned. He is a man of brawn and brain.

At last, Darr's eyes turn towards Brai. It is only because of years of training and endurance that Brai does not look away submissively. "How you've grown," Darr says. There is restraint, and wonder, in his voice.

Brai appraises him. How he longs to hunt alongside this beast and man, all in one. Still, he knows his way around men. "Same as you have," he says, cheekily. "Though, perhaps King Darr has somehow gotten...shorter?"

Tarqan, still the fatherly, turns and gives his adopted son an annoyed look. "Manners, Brai."

"I will have to wrestle some respect of it this one!" Darr says mirthfully, before flexing his massive arms before his audience. A demonstration of his power.

Brai gulps, bashful, and adjusts his skins appropriately. "Yes, sir. I am eager to be trained."

There is much feasting and rejoicing that night. Slowly, but sure (and no doubt thanks to several helpings of wine) Brai begins to grow easy with his new teacher. Though they sleep alone that night, Brai yearns now to be nuzzled against him. That, however, will wait til tomorrow, when they set off into the Green at first light.

Weeks have passed since that fateful encounter. Through patience and determination, Brai's training continued smoothly. Long are the days Darr and Brai adventured through the Deep Green, surveying the earthen kingdom. Darr taught Brai the ways of travelling from tree branch to tree branch in the shortest distance, as well as climbing and getting one's footing on steep terrain. Already, Brai's muscle mass increased under the jungle king's tutelage. He senses are sharper. He has learned the ways of the wild.

Brai and Darrs days are spent hunting. Nights are spent locked in combat training, with naked, sweat-slicked bodies illuminated by a steady campfire. Even so, there is also time for simple pleasures. Learning to identify plants and fruits. Tracking animals. Swimming in the river. Long, physically exhausting days culminate peacefully in Brai cuddling up in his master's large, furry chest, and falling asleep in his strong, gentle embrace. The nobles of Nuadd might have spoken of the deep forests as a 'Green Hell', but for Brai, it is a paradise, tended to by a guardian god of strength.

Brai has never been happier. 

It was on a misty, humid morning in the jungle kingdom when Brai, stretching towards the light from the canopy, noted a shortage of berries in their food supplies. Though a wandering soul, Darr had seen to building a tree fortress high up in the branches, in order to protect his provisions from opportunistic creatures.

 Brai frowned at the sudden lack of sustenance. "We're lacking food, master."

"Oh? Perhaps if you had not been so greedy the night before..." Darr said, ruffling his ward's hair. It had gotten noticeably longer, more untamed, since Darr had absconded with the King's ward. "It is understandable. You are taking in more food because your muscles are growing."

Brain frowned. "And who's fault is that? Maybe if you didn't push me so hard, I wouldn't eat so much!"

Laughing jovially, Darr placed his ward, lovingly, in a headlock. "Such sass at so early in the day! Does your master need to teach you a lesson, cub?"

"Grr." Brai growled, trying to remove himself from his master's pit. "Ugh, Master Darr, you are unbathed!" Secretly, though, he liked his master's pungent, masculine scent. 

Sighing, Darr let him go. "Perhaps I have been a bit tougher on you lately, yes? Well, take some rest today. Your generous master will go on ahead and find some forage for both of us, okay?" He took hold of the vine nearest to the wooden fort's terrace. "Just make sure you don't leave. The Shemhadzi have been treading on my territory. They are to be avoided unless I am around. Understood, young one?"

"Yes, master." 

Darr leaned foreword and gave his friend a kiss on the forehead. "You are under my protection. I'll return soon."

With that, Darr jumped onto the vine with a gymnastic grace, and used it as a line towards the ground. Brain watched him go, marvelling at how dextrously he moved through the canopy. It was almost as if he flew!

Before long, Darr came upon the tell-tale signs of a small predator stalking through the brush. The jungle man grunted, crouching low. He had, attached to his length of leather around his waist, a small knife for cutting. He needed no other weapon to hunt. He followed the footprints to a small clearing, where a young, male, jungle cat drank from a puddle. Darr sized the beast up. The cat wasn't big, but he and Brai needed meat. He would do.

Though Darr was careful where he placed his feat, moving in near silence, he could only be so stealthy with so much loose brush around. A branch cracked under his feet. Darr winced. The beast spun around and reared on its haunches, growing and bearing his teeth at the intruder.

Darr met the beast's stare head on. He circled it. It circled him. Darr's movements were in lockstep with the creature. He had learned by now to become like them, take on the mindset of a predator. He would not falter.

Beast and man sprang at once. But Darr had long studied the attacks of predators, knew where they positioned their teeth and claws, so he could avoid their attacked. He dodged the cat's sharp weaponry and wrapped his giant, knotted arms around its neck.

SNAP.

The kill was swift and uneventful. The beast struggled. Nature was cruel, and Darr's strength was merciless, but he was not without respect for all life. He cradled the creature, softly, uttered a prayer of thanks for its sacrifice, before he squeezed down lightly and ended its suffering. It breathed no more. This was the harsh way of the wild.

"Your sacrifice be not in vain," Darr said, hoisting the creature over his shoulder with little difficulty. "Meat, and a fresh pelt! I should leave Brai to his own devices more often!"

No sooner had he said that though, than his keen ears picked up on the cry of a young, human male, echoing through the forest.

Darr winced. "Seems I spoke to soon." Annoyed at having to abandon his prey, but thinking quickly, Darr scurried up a tree and placed the creature's remains high up, in hopes other scavanegers might miss it. It didn't matter. There was something far more important to attend to. Darr grabbed a hold of a branch and let his eyes track his path through the canopy, every movement planned three steps ahead. He moved like water, but inwardly, his heartbeat quickened. When it came to facing down the treacheries of the woodlands, he had little concern for his own wellbeing (and certainly had the scars from all manner of beast to prove it). Others though? He couldn't abide them in danger. Not for one moment.

Perched atop a giant tree, Darr looked over the misty canopy. He closed his eyes, and waited, pushing away thoughts of panic. If anything happened to Brai...if he lost another...

"Darr!"

The beast man's body moved ahead his mind, instinct pulling him from branch to branch towards the source of his young friend's cries. Darr jumped forward, out of the brush and into the clearing. What he saw there didn't surprise him, but it made him rage.

Brai was alive (thank the gods) but in a perilous position, stripped and tied to a wooden stake in the middle of the clearing. Looming in front of the boy, the muscular, long- haired barbarian, with only a leather breechloth to conceal his modesty, breathed rancidly onto the struggling hero.

The necklace of teeth around his thick neck indicated his tribe. There was no doubt. He was a Shemhadzi warrior. These brutes had a knack for kidnapping young, virile males and sacrificing them to their lustful, deviant god.

The long haired demon with the pale flesh licked his lips savagely at the boy. "Such a delicious little beasty." He held the long knife out to Brai's throat. "I will do this slow. My god enjoys a suffering death, especially from a pretty one such as yourself. Hahaha!"

Darr's fists went white with rage. He would sneak up behind the oaf and snap his neck, just as he'd done to the jungle cat before.

But Brai was afraid, his senses gone from him. He looked over at Darr, his expression shifting, and thereby alerting the Shemhadzi warrior to the presence of an interlope.

Snarling, with sharp teeth clenched tight, the muscular brute turned around and growled at the intruder.

Darr did the same, roaring and striking his massive pectorals with his fists. Among two men of the wild, there was no need for words. Warriors of the wilderness spoke a more primitive language.

"Fool savage," the white devil snarled in Darr's direction. "How dare you interrupt this sacrifice? How dare you challenge the Great Kahl!"

Darr spat on the soil, a great insult. "Great? Ha! I've never heard of you. How can a man be truly great if he has no esteem?"

The Kahl brute was caught off guard. "A sharper tongue than I'd expect from a man of such..." the fiend looked Darr up and down, lustfully, and licked his lips. "Bulk. I think I'll cut out your heathen tongue and wear it around my neck!"

"Drop your weapon," Darr demanded. He cracked his own neck and rotated his arm, spoiling for a brawl. It had been ages. "Let's settle this like real men."

The challenge incensed Kahl. "I AM KING OF THIS REALM!" he roared, chucking his weapon to the side.

"YOU WILL BE CONQUERED," Darr bellowed, muscles tensed and rippling. He charged forward, meeting his foe in a test of strength.

Brai watched the display between the two godly men, their bodies rippling and contorting with force. Both of them covered in sweat, and with wild eyes, they were more beast than men as they struggled for dominance. Brai only wished he could undo these binds to help his master.

But his master didn't need assistance. He tossed the warrior to the dirt, and jumped upon him, hands together like a makeshift club. He slammed his fists into the brute's skull, eager to crack it open.

The warrior was quicker than anticipated. He shifted his neck at the last second, causing Darr to slam his fists into the ground, painfully. Kahl seized the moment and DROVE his knees into Darr's guts, knocking him to the ground

*swell of dramatic music*

Brai cried out as his master fell back, stunned. "Darr! No!"

"HAHAHA!" The evil Kahl cackled as he got back onto his feet and immediately went for his sword.

Darr clutched his wounded stomach, and heaved. The blow had knocked the air right out of him. He struggled to get back on his feet.

Brai, panicked, looked between the glinting metal in Kahl's hands, and his incapacitated friend. "No! Not like this. Get up, Darr! Get to your feet, king of the jungle!"

Darr spat, and looked to his pupil. He winced.

"Now, die!" Kahl shrieked. He sliced his sword forward.

With a low growl, Darr side-stepped the blow and grabbed Kahl at the elbow, pivoting around and driving his hand behind his back at the wrong angle.

CRACK!

"GODS!" Jahl shrieked, dropping his weapon to the dirt and nursing his damaged arm.

Darr took the opportunity to kick the sword away. "Have faith in your king, lad," he said, reassuringly, to his bound companion.

Brai exhaled with relief, smiling at his master. "Darr."

This wasn't over yet. Darr breathed heavily, dripping sweat, eyes nearly rolling back in his head like a beast gone berserk. He removed his dagger from his hilt, showed it to his foe, and tossed it aside.

He tugged on his leopard print breech cloth, ripping it away and revealing his erect manhood. "We. Fight. Like. Men." 

Kahl, hurt, but defiant, grunted at the challenge. He removed his own breech, exposing a fat, engorged member. 

Exposed to each other, the primal males were driven by a warrior's rage. They drove foreword again, ready to tear each other apart. Darr didn't hesistate. He wrapped his huge, naked form around Kahl's torso; the grip of a starved anaconda. The sweat-saturated king fixed his hands tightly around the small of Kahl's back and heaved, grinding his massive body against his and squeezing down hard.

"Gahhhh!" Kahl screamed. "You...bastard!"

Beyond rage and words, Darr shoved his head in the crook of Kahl's neck and grunted, squeezing down harder and harder. There could be no mercy here. Only swift punishment.

"This is the fate of all who would dare harm the jungle king and his companions! I am the protector of this realm. Know this, under the sound of your breaking body. I sacrifice you to the gods of the green. Be at peace."

Sur enough, a subtle creaking participated an even louder CRUNCH. Kahl went to scream, but the air had been driven out of him. His eyes, bloodshot with terror, went wide and white; his mouth a rectus of pain.

Brai liked watching his master fight, especially in a state of undress. But this was too much brutality. He looked away.

CRACK. 

Kahl's body went forward, slumped over his vanquisher. Still, he breathed, barely.

Driven by bloodlust and rage, the merciless hero held his foe for awhile, even gripping down harder and shaking him, like prey caught in the jaws of a larger beast. He recalled the mercy he had bestowed upon the jungle cat before. He would grant Kahl this much, at least.

From his deadly embrace, Darr leaned forward, gained momentum, and slung the struggling Kahl over his shoulders. With eyes blank, and mouth in a snarl, Darr brought both of his hands down quick.

He roared, guttural and primal, as he delivered the killing blow.

A plume of misty blood escaped Kahl's mouth, as he was quite literally snapped in half. That was that. Darr, knowing he had dealt deatj, let the man's body drop from his shoulders, and onto the dirt. He would not desecrate it. He was no cannibal, like Kahl's wretched kind. 

Yet still, Darr needed to show his power and glory to the jungle. Flexing his muscles, and roaring with primal rage, the sweat peeled off the jungle king's body in an almost supernatural explosion of strength. Brai could only watch, terrified and in awe. Darr was truly the master of this realm; the apex predator of the Deep Green.

The humanity flowed back into Darr. He caught his breath, wiping the sweat from his brow. He turned to face his ward. His eyes were sullen. The ways of the jungle were cruel, and he would not hide them from strong-willed and kind Brai, but he would have rather not done this in front of a pure soul like his.

But Brai understood. In silence, and reverence, he let his master pulled the ropes away as if they were nothing. He stood, the only creature in the forest who dared lock eyes with the jungle king.

Darr lowered his head. "Nobody will EVER hurt Brai, Prince of Nuadd!"

"Darr..." Brai trembled. But it was not fear that took him. He embraced his master's sweaty, muscular form. He felt a stirring in his loins as he did, overwhelmed with lust and affection for the man who had protected him.

"My liege. I pledge body and soul to you." He pulled his head back but did not dare let go. "You have the jungle. Now...have me.

"Brai..." Darr said, looking down. He stroked his ward's cheek, tenderly. "A spirit such as yours cannot be possessed. But...I would have your kiss."

"Master..."

Their lips met. Nothing in the world, perhaps not even the gods, could have pulled those men apart as they kissed passionately, locked in each other's arms.

"I am yours," Brai whispered, tears of raw emotion welling in his eyes.

"And you, mine," Darr said, tenderly. "A king needs a prince. Be mine."

"Without question, my lord. Without question..."

Chapter 3: The Prodigal Nightmares

The young trainee in the black trunks buckled to the blow from the thick, black boot.

"URK!"

His spit and blood hit the canvas before he followed suit.

THUNK. 

Towering above him, the hulk in the black, bat-like mask, and his companion in the red, Jurassic-inspired gear, leered down at their victim like two predators ready to dig into a fresh kill.

"Having fun yet, chico?" the fanged villain in the black mask said.

"YOU WILL MAKE A TASTY MEAL FOR T. REX!" the more outrageous, over-the-top spellbreaker in the dinosaur mask said, planting a boot on the bullied trainee's butt. Tirano Rex's companion, the beefy, bat creature, Camatotz, yanked the trainee's arms up behind his back, threatening to rip them out of their sockets.

In front of the ring, positioned in a dusty, hot, warehouse on the outskirts of Mexico City, Serpent conducted business with an unexpected guest. The veteran rudo, dressed in a scaly mask and a black duster jacket to show off his formidable body, smoked a cigar, tapping cinders into the ash tray on the table.

"Ah, music to my ears," Serpent said, blowing a smoke ring, which transformed into the slithering form of a sidewinder. The devilishly handsome, older man ran a finger across his salt-and-pepper goatee, soaking in the sounds of violence behind him. He opened his eyes, revealing his green, snake-like stare to his esteemed guest.

Across from Serpent (and the few empty beer bottles sitting between them) Semyon Grigorivich, of a like mind, smiled back wickedly. "And what did that poor jobber do to deserve such an...intriguing punishment?"

The sound of a body hitting the canvas, and another scream, precipitated Serpent's reply. The president of Los Venoms, the most dangerous rudo stable this side of the Rio Grande, smiled a toothy, fanged grin. "He simply failed to meet my expectations," Serpent said. "He will do better next time. After this. If he survives."

Back inside the ring, the brusied and batter trainee's limp hand hung in the air as T. Rex and Camazotz Jr.  hoisted him on their shoulders, before double-slamming his body back into the canvas.

Grigorivich nodded, in understanding, though he couldn't help notice his new business partner's serpentine eyes fall upon the strange, stone bracelet tucked beneath his sleeve. Even in the Mexican summer heat, Grigorivich insisted on wearing suits.

"You must pardon the dampener," Semyon said. "Merely a precaution. I should hope our second encounter, should this conversation bear fruit, will not require such fail safes."

Serpent shrugged. He placed his lit cigar on the rim of the ashtray. "I would normally say, 'Do not insult me', but to be honest..." he laughed, hollow and horse. "I wouldn't trust me either. It is no matter." He folded his hands on the table. "So, you want me to give Colt's boys hell when they come into town? My friend, this is not a big ask. Vaquero and I have a...score to settle. Now, as for this Chalice of yours..."

Serpent leaned back. Grigorivich waited, patient.

"I am afraid I have no idea," Serpent said, blankly. "But...I can find out. I have many eyes and ears in this town. I will simply," he snapped his fingers. "As you know, I can be quite...compelling." As he said this, his eyes glowed a deep, eerie green.

As did the ruins alongside Semyon's bracelet, absorbing the dark magick. "Then we have a deal," Grigorivich said. He removed the small satchel and slid it across the table.

Maintaining eye contact all the while, Serpent undid the drawstrings and peered inside. Several vials of red liquid, rubedo, simmered within. "Ah, the good stuff," Serpent laughed.

"Your boys will be undefeatable," Grigorivich said. "A good tool for your arsenal. Colt's spellbreakers are a capable bunch."

"Ah, but now you do insult me," Serpent said with a low laugh. "My men do not need to inject rubedo in order to be vicious beasts. They have been well trained. As you can tell." He looked over his shoulder as his two assistants mockingly revived the battered trainee, only to pile on more punishment. "They just require a little fresh meat, now and then."

Grigorivich smiled. "It is a pleasure to be among men who understand the true joys of spellbreaking. The beauty in the sadism." 

"Indeed. Though, if I may be so bold..."

Semyon turned his hand over, welcomingly. "Please."

"Why not have your champion, Vahni Rage, do this dirty work for you?" Serpent sat back and sighed. "Now he is a most beautiful beast."

"Thank you," Grigorivich said, sincerely. "Rage is one of the most powerful spellbreakers to ever exist. He is both legend and legend killer. But, like the flame he wields, he can be...unpredictable. Despite his brutality, there is a frustrating personal code of his that I sometimes find disagreeable. He has his ways."

"Sounds like your heel isn't as well-heeled after all."

"Make no mistake, Serpent. Firebird does not suffer fools, and even our greatest will eventually be dealt appropriate judgment when the time arises. We are not to be crossed." He lowered his head, knowingly.

Serpent, confident, smiled back. "A devil need not worry making deals with other devils," Serpent said, extending his hand. "We are not lesser mortals, you and I."

"Far from it," Semyon said, shaking hands in agreement. He stood, understanding this meeting was nearing its end, and looked behind Serpent at his two vicious men in the ring. "That T. Rex. Quite an interesting fellow."

"Oh yes," Serpent said, watching on with amusement as T. Rex yanked his victim's head back, in a camel clutch position, and began to gnaw on it mercilessly, drawing blood. "Vicious, to be sure. And yet, there is something of the cartoon about him. He is amusing. The children love him, surprisingly enough. Despite what you see here, I do regret there is a sort of softness hidden inside him." He shrugged. "When he is 'fed', anyway. What you see here is a necessary product of 'starvation'. Keep the hounds hungry, and they will crave blood."

"I can see why Colt is so interested in courting him," Semyon said. "Count your lucky stars, Serpent, that Firebird's roster is currently full."

Serpent laughed, and saw to it that his grunts, two broad chested lugs in black masks, escorted Grigorivich safely to the door. When the sound of the steel, warehouse door creaking shut was enough to satisfy Serpent that his new business partner had no nasty surprises for him, he turned to the ring to appraise his student's work.

The boy stood, wobbly, with sweaty, muscled out Camazotz Jr. and T. Rex on either side, ready to deal more punishment...at their master's behest, of course. Serpent held up a hand. They stopped, well-trained.

The master approached the ring apron, sternly, as the trainee fell to his knees. Blood dripping from several open wounds on his face and red, raw chest, the young man looked at him pleadingly, barely able to form words.

"Please....sir...make it stop."

Serpent leered at him. What a pathetic, submissive display. Really, he should have a hole dug in the desert to remove this waste. But, Los Venoms needed a test subject to make sure this rubedo stuff was legitimate. He would do. Best case scenario, it would turn this simpering pup into a blood-thirsty hound after a few injections and some time spent with T. Rex.

"Look into my eyes," Serpent said, as his eyes glowed green. "Yes, boy. Good."

The young trainee's eyes matched his master's unearthly glow. "Yes...sir.

"No. Try again."

"Yes...master."

"No. One more time."

He shivered. Serpent could tell the young man was trying to fight against his spell. But it was useless. His mind-control magick was unbreakable.

"Yes...daddy." Tears streaked down the trainees eyes.

"Good, boy," Serpent said, reaching out to stroke the trainee's face. In the process, his fingers caught a trace of the young man's blood. "Hm," Serpent said, putting his fingers to his mouth and sucking them wet. "Now...listen to what I have to say. Go climb the top rope."

Without protesting, the sedate trainee stood and climbed up to the top of the ropes, taking a position on the turnbuckle. Still, there were the tell-tale signs of resistance, the subtle shivers and muscle tensing that always pleased Serpent to see in his victims.

The young man, blank faced, stood at the top. He would not move until Serpent uttered a command.

Camazotz Jr., smiling, looked to his master. T. Rex, twitching with excitement, slid out of the ring.

"Fall," Serpent said.

The boy did not hesitate. He threw himself forward, down to the hard concrete floor.

T. Tex caught him in his arms, holding up tight. The trainee shook his head, the enchantment dispelled. It seemed, for now, he was rescued.

Or so it looked, until T. Tex, tongue lolling out of his toothy, dinosaur mask like a starved animal, turned the boy upside down and held him in an inverted position.

"FRESH KILL! FRESH KILL!"

T. Rex jumped into the air and drove the boy's head into the concrete. His body slumped forward and dropped.

Serpent trusted T. Rex's skills were precise enough that the boy was still alive. Better for the rubedo test, of course. If it worked, he would be healed. If not...

"Rest now," Serpent told his Jurassic juggernaut, flexing bestially over his unconscious victim. "Remember, your match with Icewolf is coming up. Let's show Colt's boys that they have plenty of reasons to be afraid of us..."

Chapter 2: Lunch Date

Once upon a time in America, during the dawn of steam engines and railways, there was an incredibly powerful steel-driver by the name of John Henry. As tall as two men, and as strong as seven, he could lay down an entire mile of railway track before lunchtime.

However, as the times changed and industry advanced, a steam powered, tunnelling machine was introduced that could do the jobs of both John Henry and his fellow laborers in half the time it took for a man, supposedly rendering their jobs obsolete. John Henry challenged the machine's inventor to a contest, a race to see who could tunnel into the side of a mountain faster. If John Henry won, the inventor would have to pack up his machine and go. 

The race began. Though the steam powered drill was quick, John Henry was quicker, and he managed to burrow a tunnel in record time. Though he won the race, and the inventor honored their arrangement, it was said John Henry's heart gave out where he stood. His sacrifice saved many workers and their families.

Though, other legends say he lived on, and even had a son of his own...

Supernova Press!

Jack Frost, "The Icepick" VS Iggy Astro "The Cosmic Crusher

Jack Frost: That PUNK Iggy Astro is about to get the DEEP FREEZE! I'm Jack Frost, and I just looooove taking on prettyboys. And do you know why? Because by the time I'm done with them, they're DISFIGURED, DEFEATED, AND DEEEEFILED! Hahaha! My shards of ice are just DYING to cut up that pink pussy Astro's painted up mug!

Iggy Astro: Silly little snowman. You and I might both be villains, but do you know the difference? My magnificent art ENHANCES the beauty of my defeated jobbers. I prize beauty and brawn above all things. So, I think it's funny that you hide your face beneath a mask. Hahaha! You must be really ugly!

Jack Frost: We'll see who's ugly when I'M DONE WITH YOU!"

Iggy Astro: Tsk tsk. You know what a comet did to the dinosaurs, don't you? Your ice age is about to come to an end.... 

*bell!*

5 minutes of brutal beatdown later.

Iggy: Oh I'm sorry, did my stardust blind you? Well, a promise is a promise. I'll make sure your outsides look pristine, padrão. As for your insides...I'm gonna turn them into STAR JELLY. Let's rock and roll, motherfucker!

SUPERNOVA PRESS! Jack Frost is reduced to a smoking crater!

Iggy: Oh dear, I think we need a medic. Hope you don't miss solid food too much, Jacky boy! Hehehe. I'm such a bad little kitty.

The End!

The Titan and His Apprentice

The sun had just risen over the GSA campus, casting the humid morning a rosy pink hue. As always, Joseph, AKA White Tiger, was already awake. He was on his seventh lap around the ranch and making excellent time. Running shirt and shorts stained with perspiration, the determined champion checked his (very expensive) watch, and was satisfied with his goal for the day. It had been a productive morning, and—as usual—all of his peers were still asleep, giving him freedom and peace of mind to train in quiet. One did not become the GSA Champ simply by resting on their laurels. Besides, Joseph, self-appointed guardian (like his legendary feline namesake) took pride in keeping a watchful eye out during the early hours, making sure his peers and trainees slept safely.

Which is why it was unusual, though hardly a bother, to come upon Gio and Cian already bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. The two men were coming up the path as Joseph turned the corner onto the road leading to the dorms. The giant and his stocky, beefy companion, carried a knapsack each to their backs.

Joseph was aware that his presence tended to intimidate others, so he made the first move, giving them a quick and amiable wave. "Morning, gentlemen."

Cian was more apprehensive, but Gio and Joseph had fought alongside (and against) each other for a few years now. The large, hairy, Italian bodybuilder smiled warmly at him.

"Morning, White Tiger."

Joseph cocked his head to the side. He wasn't normally one to pry. Out early today, are we? Special training going on?"

Cian shrugged and turned his face away. Joseph thought he saw him blush. "It's Midsummer Day. Gio and I are going to do a ritual."

"To bless the GSA with good fortune!" the giant man said, pulling his apprentice in fort a tight hug.

"...my neck, Gio, my neck..." Cian squeaked.

"Oh, sorry!"

Joseph placed his finger to his chin in contemplation. "Ah yes. You two are pagan. But I thought you were from different belief systems?"

"We accept that there are many gods," Gio explained. "There is much similarity between the faith of the Romans and the Celts."

"Fascinating," Joseph said. "So, what sort of ritual is it?"

Gio have Cian a knowing glance, causing the normally cool and unbothered Faeblood Brawler to look away out of shyness.

Gio placed his hands on his hips in a heroic pose, sticking his chest out and raising his voice (perhaps a few decibels higher than what morning called for). "A ritual of STRENGTH and FERTILITY! A ritual that will IMPRESS the gods and grant us their BLESSINGS! My young, strong, HANDSOME apprentice and I are going to conduct a traditional wrestling match in the grove! RAGGH!" 

Gio's enthusiasm, and pec protrusion, was, apparently, far too much for his green button-up shirt. The buttons snapped and went flying, hairy pecs blooming from within the folds of the stressed fabric.

Without blinking, Joseph caught a black button in his hand. "Giovanni, what have I told you you about wearing button ups after chest day?" He smiled wrly.

The bashful giant scratched his head. "Oh, er, sorry. I have been hitting the chest harder lately." His open shirt exposed his muscles, mossy with plentiful, dark fur.

"Here, big lad," Cian said, reaching into his backpack and withdrawing a plain undershirt. "This should work."

"No need!" Gio said, holding up a firm hand. He proudly removed what remained of his top. "Where we are going, my friend, we have NO NEED for clothes!" 

Joseph looked between the two muscle men, deciding there was little similarity between them other then the one brain cell they apparently shared. "Well, you two have fun. Best of luck with your excursion." He couldn't help but smirk, however. "Hope you have a towel packed in there, Cian. Something tells me you'll need it. Oh, and remember, champions hydrate! You better have packed plenty of water. Don't want to risk dehydration. And don't forget sunscre....ugh, they're not listening...."

'Macho' El Amante vs 'Monkey' Khemalitzli!!

"Fuck it, I just love Phuket!" Spike chirped up.

The road to the arena was lined with stalls, all of them displaying a rainbow of banners, signs, and lights. This was nothing to say of the aromas, the fruits, the foods, and the colorful clothing worn by the jovial proprietors calling out their wares to the hungry crowd drawing closer to the open air stadium.

Iggy and Spike didn't exactly blend in. Dressed in a blue floral T-shirt and a flashy aviators, Spike looked like a Hollywood celebrity. Iggy, going for a more feminine approach, wore a green sarong, their hair in a ponytails, capped with a hibiscus flower. Spike thought it nice to see his teacher in more gender fluid clothing, especially because it showed off their amazing arms and legs. 

"You look pretty great in that getup," Spike said.

Iggy adjusted their flashy sunglasses. "Nothing wrong with a sarong, kitten!"

The two spellbreakers earned their fine share of stares from the crowd around them, but they were more expressions of awe and curiosity than derision. The spellbreakers had received nothing but a warm welcome from their Thai fans since landing a few days ago. 

The two fighters had come out to support their fellow roster-member tonight, but Spike was already having a wrestling match against hunger. The sights of red, steaming prawns and chefs wok-tossing rice over tall flames made his stomach growl. "I could eat my weight in pad thai...or pineapple fried rice...or mango custard...or..."

Iggy smirked. "We get it, you're here for the food."

Spike eyed the two, beefy Thai rugby boys throwing back shots at a stall near by. "Not just the food, teach..." Then again, culture. "I wanna go to some drag shows too!" He knew that would interest his mentor, the flashy, theatrical heel.

"Kitten, we're here to support our hunky, luchador friend."

"Your boyfriend, I know, I know." 

"This is gonna be a special match, Sailor! Your roomie, Kengo, might be a spirit summoner, but his is only one kind of summoning."

Now, Spike—passing through a hanging floral arrangement partitioning the stadium entrance—was genuinely intrigued. "What do you mean?"

Iggy winked. "You'll see."

It was a fairly small arena, but the crowd was electric. A humid, tropical evening, Spike and Iggy were thankful for the open arena, and with not a cloud hanging in the clear sky, they were unlikely to get rained on. The excited audience carried paper fans and sipped from long glasses of iced tea. Cryos and Ventus magi, positioned at either end of the stadium, took shifts casting a cool climate over all. For Spike, this was the best kind of evening. No high stakes spellbreaking. Just fun.

The mistress of ceremonies, celebrated announcer and drag queen, Miss Khanom Chan, appeared on the announcer's stage in a giant, blooming lotus that burst into a snow shower of colorful petals. The giant bloom became the Plant magi's dress. She waved to her adoring fans and blew kisses, before taking up the microphone.

"Ladies and gentleman, how are we all feeling tonight!?"

"Hungry!" Spike gleefully shouted, before Iggy playfully smacked him upside the head. The crowd answered the announcer with far more focused enthusiasm. 

Face painted to perfection, and hair a beehave of blossoms, the drag queen smiled. "Okay folks, let's get to it! We have some absolute muscle studs about to go at it and get nasty. So, no matter who loses the match, we're the real winners. This match is scheduled for one fall. Coming to the ring, it's the macho papi of romance, the Romeo of the Ring, the Warrior of Love, and my future husband...El Amante Intoxico!"

From the rows, Iggy shot Miss Khanom Chan a dark look. "Keep off my man, sister. This kitten has claws!" She's lucky her outfit looks sickening...

With a red, velvet cape wrapped around his sturdy frame, El Amante looked like a regal king. Befitting a floral setting, the luchador had chosen a desert cactus inspired mask outfit tonight that his cousin, and Chloros-wielding spellbreaker, Reina Rosa had put together. He could hear excitedly rattling off the details in his head. 

"The costume is based on the acuña cactus--or Butterfly Cactus. The cactus flower, in the language of flowers, symbolizes lust/physical attraction that withstands harsh environments In addition, it attracts monarch butterflies. The cactus flower, in the language of flowers, symbolizes lust and physical attraction that withstands harsh environments."

El Amante smiled and blew kisses to his many admirers on either side of the aisle, all who reeled back in ecstasy as they were hit by his wave of love magick.

Arriving at the ring, El Amante wiped his gold boots on the apron and entered. He let the ref pat him down, and then did his sexy little strpper routine for the squeeling delight of the crowd.

"This too hot!" Miss Khanom said, unfurling a floral-patterned fan and fanning herself. "El Amante, don't go and get deported now, sweetie!"

The luchador threw off his apron, revealing his oil-coated body. El Amante had been going harder on the pec day, and when he wiggled his pecs for the crowd, it was almost obscene. But there was a lot of muscle to highlight on el cachas. Abs. Beefy biceps. Boulder shoulders. Giant legs. There was a good reason why many spellbreakers actually wanted to get put into submission holds by the Warrior of Love.

El Amante took his time doing his dance for his adoring crowd. Hips isolated, arms over head, he thrusted in slow, grinding, circular motions, as if he was seducing the whole arena.

Spike gulped. "Hard?" he asked Iggy, without looking at them.

"...Yeah."

Spike sighed. "Same."

After bowing to the ref, and giving him a small kiss on the cheek (nearly making the handsome, Thani man faint) El Amante took the microphone. Usually, Luchadors were men and women of few words. That never stopped El Amante, for whom 'too much' was never enough.

Deep voiced, with a sensual, smoky accent, El Amante greeted his crowd. "Hello, Thailand!"

Cheers, sighs, and even a few sexual moans, ensued.

"Oh wow. You are all so beautiful." El Amante, however, took a moment too long to notice the strange, glowing symbol slowly burning its way into the canvas. "Huh? This is..."

Miss Khanom Chan, distracted by El Amante's sexy dance, suddenly snapped back to reality. She cleared her throat. "That's right, folks, you're seeing a summoning sygil! Foreign guests, we do it a little different here in Thailand, as you're about to find out. Introducing El Amante's opponent, all the way from the distant realms of the Prakhai...Khemalitzli."

El Amante stood back, holding his massive arms up to the burst of flame and light that came from the summoning sygil. A shadow appeared in the light, slowly taking material form. The handsome warrior that stood before the luchador was mostly human in appearence, save for his golden hair and simian-like tail, that swung from behind him.

The unusual and attractive warrior put their knuckles together and stared defiantly at his opponent. "Hm!"

In the audience, Spike turned his head incredulously towards Iggy. "He's...a Beastman?" He had heard the phrase before. Anthropomorphic beings from other realms, other worlds (life has gotten a little weird for the spellbreakers lately). 

Iggy, full of wisdom, searched their brain index for an answer. "Hmmm. I think he might be something else."

El Amante was initially taken aback by the warrior's odd appearance, but now he was intrigued. He circled his opponent. "Beautiful muscles, my handsome friend," El Amante growled. He winked. "But can you put them to use, I wonder?" Interesting, El Amante thought, there is something almost Aztec about his outfit!

Khemalitzli was far from intimidated by the masked muscle man. "Ah, now you are quite the human," he said in a rich, almost musical voice.

El Amante sized him up. He was playful, but strong. "And here I thought I was the only stud with a nice tail here." He licked his lips. "You're going to be fun to dominate." 

"Dominate!?" the monkey warrior laughed, as if it was the most absurd suggestion in the world. "Well, you should see what my tail can do, pretty one!" Taking a more serious tone, he pounded his fist against his chest. "I AM THE GREAT KHEMALITZLI! I am warrior of people. You wanted a fight? You're gonna get one!"

"Now that's a pickup line!" El Amante growled, getting into fighting stance, muscles bulging (and not just muscles either). He's lucky I always wear my thong to hide my true 'power'. He's turning me on!

The bell rang, and the two fighters wasted no time locking up. Though they both confidently grinned, their eyes narrowed like two predators locked in a struggle for territory. Hand met giant bicep, each fighter pushing and pulling against each other.

Stronger than he looks, El Amant quietly admitted. This was getting fun! Then, they noticed something odd. It took them a second before they picked up on it. 

El Amante let his confident demeanour drop, for but a moment. "You...you have no magick!"

Khemalitzli sneered, pushing back against the brawny man's might. "Hmph! I don't need magick, masked man!" Suddenly, his eyes flashed gold. "I HAVE POWER!"

The monkey man used the momentum of El Amante's force to push him back, and wasted no time pivoting and roundhouse kicking the luchador stud right in the chest. The Mexican powerhouse was over 250 pounds, but he sailed through the air as if he'd been struck by a cannon ball!

The audience gasped. As did Spike. "Oh shit, he's strong!"

Normally cool, collected, and cocky, Iggy's eyes bugged out. He said nothing, however. They'd seen their boy in tougher scrapes before. He was made of strong stuff.

El Amante reeled back into the ropes, shaking off the blow. Even the ref felt it necessary to run to their side. But the luchador regained their posture. "What a love tap!" he said. "I like a man who packs a punch."

"You haven't seen anything yet!" Khemalitzli shouted as he JUMPED into the air with acrobatic grace, both feet landing (perfectly balanced) on the top rope. The audience reacted with shock and awe.

El Amante glared. He wasn't about to be outdone, and now this monkey idiot was starting to get too cocky for his lucky. The sweaty luchador spit on the canvas, gritted his teeth, and made a 'come-and-get-it" motion with his hand. He'd pluck that acrobatic fool right out of the air and body slam his brains out!

Khemalitzli jumped from the ropes, somersaulting in mid-air. The precision and flow was remarkable. Even El Amante, no strange to high flying was duly impressed! Even more so when Khemalitzli switched things up and turned his dive into a kick instead!

Boot met masked head. El Amante went sailing back, knocked absolutely senseless.

Iggy balled their hands up into fists. "Come on, guapo. Enough monkey business!"

El Amant turned and spat blood onto the canvas, heaving, but not down for the count. The crowd was stunned that he was even able to stand. So was Khemalitzli.

"No bad, my monkey amigo." El Amante's eyes glowed violet. The mood in the ring changed. "I think perhaps your energy needs to come down a knotch. Why skip the foreplay?"

The monkey warrior was ready to give El Amante another one, this time to his square-cut jaw, and settle this quick, but he was hit by the spellbreaker's unusual aura. The fight wasn't taken out of him, not entirely, but he felt less hot blooded. Calmer.

It was all El Amante needed to act. He grit down on the pain to his skull and pivoted around Khemalitzli grabbing him around the waist. Before the warrior from another world could react, the luchador reached down and cupped a handful of his ass, tail included.

"HEY!" the suddenly embarrassed monkey yelped. He tried to pull away, but it was the exact reaction El Amante was looking for. He booted the monkey in the butt and knocked him into the canvas, trapping his tail between his legs.

The beefy, masked man began to stroke the warrior's tail suggestively, making it almost erect. "Oooh, he went hard, everyone!" He pointed and laughed. "Did you see that!?"

The audience reeled back, enjoying the warrior's humiliation. Red face and angry, the warrior finally yanked his tail away and got back onto his feet...not knowing that El Amante's 'love venom' had slowly begun to take effect.

Khemalitzli was shaken, but he wasn't done. "You will pay for that!" he snarled.

"Oh, will I?" came El Amante's response, he bounced off the ropes, quicker than the (now slower) Khemalitzli could follow, delivering a stunning, stuff lariat to the monkey king's sternum. 

CRACK!

Even Iggy, out in the audience, felt that one! But while Spike winced empathetically at the searing strike, the more sadistic Iggy Astro grinned. "My hunk hits like a truck! Looks like monkey met is about to be on the menu!"

The blow knocked Khemalitzli to the canvas, and nearly took him out. The ref went to their knees in anticipation, and it was a good thing too...because El Amante was already setting up his next move.

El Amante brought their elbow down hard on Khemalitzli's stomach, knocking whatever wind was left inside them! He didn't got for pin, however. Instead, he took the opportunity to grab and twist the proud warrior's nipples.

"GET OFF!" Khemalitzli managed to squeak. Ooh, that feels good.

"So rude!" the luchador tut-tutted, yanking the warrior onto his back and setting him up for a dragon sleeper. The luchador shoved the monkey king's face into his sweaty, cologne-coated pits, forcing a masculine, domininant aroma into the stunned warrior's open mouth and nose. 

Oxygen and blood flow restricted, the Khemalitzli couldn't help but take big gasps of air...each time, inhaling the intoxicating the luchador's pungent scent. He choked and sputtered, but inside, he was turned on.

"How do you like my masculine scent?" El Amant laughed, grinding his armpit and chest into Khemalitzli's handsome face.

"MMmmmmm!"

"What was that," El Amante asked, blowing a kiss to the ref. "Is that a 'mi rindo'? Eh? You already smell like me now, so I guess that's makes you mine!"

Khemalitzli managed to summon their spectacular strength and pull away, gasping for fresh air. It was no use though. They were covered completely in their opponent's aroma. It was a humiliation of the highest order. One Khemalitzli would not soon forgive. To make matters worse for him, El Amante's pheromones had taken their toll, giving the warrior an unwitting erection that wasn't about to go down any time soon. For days to come, the lingering scent would make Khemalitzli instantly hard. How embarrassing and emasculating for a virile warrior!

Now, Khemalitzli and El Amante glared at each other from the other side of the arena, each fighter breathing heavily and dripping sweat onto the canvas. They were well matched, and it had proved an interesting fight.

But it was time to bring it to a close.

Khemalitzli and El Amante were like dancers in perfect time and rhythm. Each men, with a warrior's grace, turned and threw their momentum against the ropes, picking up more speed. Two runaway trains speeding towards each other, it looked like the Warrior Monkey might knock El Amante's head clean off his shoulders with a killer clothesline.

At the last second, El Amante ducked, avoiding the stiff forearm. He wrapped his giant arms around Khemalitzli's back, and clamped down in an iron grip. It was bear hug of monstrous proportions. El Amante's biceps bulged, veins popping, and back muscles rippling as he put all his muscle and all his magick into squeezing the life out of Khemalitzli.

Khemalitzli struggled to breathe. Their eyes bulged out of their skull, and their ribs creaked and groaned under the massive amount of pressure. Any lesser being would have been crushed into a messy pulp, but even the warrior from the other world was starting to break. On top of that, El Amante had pumped him full of his potent, seductive magick, so that Khemalitzli was aware of the pain, but not processing it, feeling an overwhelming pleasure instead.

El Amante knew what he was doing. This was too easy. He smirked at his opponent, whose face was contorting in a battle between pain and pleasure. "Yeah, you like it when papi holds you close, eh?" El Amante drove home the statement by slowly grinding his massive bulge against Khemalitzli's.

If the warrior were even capable of looking down, he'd see a wet spot begin to form. This wasn't good. He was either going to crush or blow first!

"What do you say?" the ref pleaded, reminded of several 'watermelon' demonstrations in which body builders had squeezed the pulpy fruit apart. 

El Amante's slow, methodical grinding was so subtle that the ref couldn't even catch it. He looked into his opponent's blood shot eyes knowingly, as if to say, 'this is our little secret'.

"Kiss me and I'll let you go."

Khemalitzli was about to pass out, break, or bust. He had no choice. He closed his eyes and presented his mouth, giving it up, completely emasculated.

El Amante's lips found it. "Good little monkey," he whispered, letting his tongue and lips find his opponent's. It was like a completely different submission move. El Amante pumped his energy straight into Khemalitzli's mouth, forcing it down his throat and into his system. A double dose of love venom.

Whatever happened to Khemalitzli in that intimate moment, he would refuse to say for years to come, too embarrassed. But he found himself taken by the overwhelming pleasure and pain. His sensed couldn't cope. The last thing Khemalitzli thought was how defeated he felt, becoming a plaything for another man, as he slipped into sweet oblivion.

El Amante held the kiss a moment longer, even as the bell peeled and the ref began to break away. He couldn't help it! A handsome, muscle man had just passed out in his arms. The luchador gently lowered him to the canvas and leaned over, his stringy, sweaty hair falling in front of his chest and dangling teasingly over his defeated opponent. He placed both hands on the warrior's sweaty chest for the pin.

"Uno...do...tres..."

Victorious, and sexy, reggaeton music blaring, El Amante leaned over and gave his unconscious opponent a revitalizing kiss, bringing him back from the brink.

Khemalitzli's eyes fluttered open. He was delerious. That bear hug had beruttaly sapped him of all his strength. "Ughh...what happened?" He realized who the pair of soft, sultry, dark eyes belonged to and winced. "No..."

El Amante laughed and patted his opponent tenderly on the shoulder. "Afraid you lost, mi amor." He helped him off the ground, bringing him back onto his feet.

The luchador smiled magnanimously at his sullen, embarrassed opponent. He placed both his hands on Khemalitzli's shoulders. "But...that was exciting! You are very strong, my friend!"

Khemalitzli, angry, but gracious in defeat, scratched the back of his neck. "Oh, thanks."

Out in the audience, Iggy and Spike collectively wiped the nervous sweat from their brows...though really, there had been no doubt that their beloved fighter would come out on top. Miss Khanom Chan enthusiastically announced the winner of the fight, and summoned a rain of rose petals in El Amante's honor.

In the ring, El Amante grabbed the mic and proudly raised his opponent's arm. He had nothing but respect for him. "Hola thailand! How about a cheer for the two kings! King of Romance and King of Monkeys!

The audience cheered, and Khemalitzli, though still annoyed at his loss, warmly embraced his new friend.

"Though your amorous moves are deceptive and strong, luchador, none can deny you are worthy of the moniker Warrior of Love." He shook his hand, fondly. 

El Amante gave the warrior a graceful and deeply respectful bow. "Human or not, love is universal. As is honor and respect. You were a great sport! You deserve an El Amante lap dance."

A sexy reggaeton beat came on over head, and a pink aura fell upon the ring. Khemalitzli, confused, suddenly found a beefy, sweaty, and amorous masked stud pick him up in the air and begin grinding on him against the turnbuckle.

Iggy rolled their eyes, ignoring Spike drooling at the masculine, erotic display. "Ugh...Viki...why?"

Red faced and slightly bewildered, Khemalitzli held on for dear life. "Erm...you humans do have such interesting rituals!"

Behind the floral mask, El Amante winked. "Just lay back and relax, stud. Let papi do his thing..."

The End

Chapter 1: Buck Tamberly's Daily Schedule

Sister Patience: Samuel? Samuel, take that paste out of your mouth! Yes put down the bottle. It's not food, dear! Yes, put it down, child. Come over here and settle down. 

Spike: I don't wanna settle down! I wanna watch spellbreaking!

Sister Patience: Peace, child. Come now, it's story time.

Spike: That's a big book.

Sister Patience: Isn't it? It's one of my favorites. It's very old, yes? It's a book full of fairy tales and stories from all around the world. While the words of the Goddess are most important, I do believe that these tales connect everyone, no matter where they come from, and can take us to specials places by picturing them in our mind.

Spike: Why?

Sister Patience: Well, I suppose tales of heroes and monsters and adventures are something we all share as a people, whether we're here in New York or as far as China. No matter who you are, you may find some similarity between them. It reminds oneself that the Goddess made us all different, and yet we share the same dreams, and hopes, and...oh I'm getting ahead of myself! Now, let's turn the page and let's see what story we'll be telling today. Ah...here is one...

There was once a king of the forest, a great and mighty stag, who bore a son. Though the son was seen as the heir to the kingdom of the great forest, he did not grow horns when he came of age. The other creatures of the forest made fun of him for this, though the King's loyal guardsmen--including the foxes, the rabbits, the bulls, and the hawks--promised to keep the son safe. Yet, the young deer felt abandoned by his father, who taught his gaurdsmen the ways of protecting the forest, but overlooked him.

And so, one day, the son went wandering...towards the sound of howling wolves...

World Tour Arc

7:00 AM - Zeus paws my face. He mews. "You have enough food in your bowl." Meow. "Ugh. Furry bastard." 

I guess I'm up now.

7:15 AM - Attend to the real master of the house, more powerful than my father, the other thunder god. That's settled. Brush teeth. Shower. I wonder if I can fit in some 'personal time' in bed, but I gotta' get going. I look in the mirror. I guess I sort of look like dad, huh? Sure am I handsome bastard like him, but mom's genes gave me dark hair instead of blonde, and made me a bit too pretty in the eyes and lips. Still, my skin is clear. The acne plague of my teens might be receding. 

I smile. "You're a bad, bad man, Buck Tamberly." 

I almost believe it. I put on a plaid shirt, jeans, and my cowboy boots. The best spellbreaking fed in the world can't run itself, y'know?

7:30 AM - Dad's already at the gym. Looks like he took my recent feedback on board and tried to make us breakfast...if you can call these charred, dry, black square on my plate 'breakfast'. These days, outside of dinner, dad talks to me almost exclusively in yellow sticky notes. He's given me a few tasks to work on today. 

I glance at the burnt toast in horror, and fix myself a bowl of cereal and orange juice. More pats for Zeus. Stack the plate on top of a mountain of dishes. It's a war of attrition between dad and I to see who will give first and do them. We haven't done much wrestling together lately, so I guess this is sort of our longstanding match.

7:45 AM - Another hot Texas morning in the outskirts of San Antonio. Some wild west this place turned out to be. Out yonder by the dorms, I see Sanjay and some new recruits scurrying on ahead to the gym. I'd like to go there myself right now and do some reps, but I have work to do. These lights don't stay on by themselves, and it sure as hell ain't my daddy who's balancing the books to keep it that way! 

7:55 AM - My office is my cozy, private world. I water my plant babies, making a note to check out how my other 'projects' are going in the community garden. I put on the new record Victor got me. Some dirty reggaeton. It's a bit early in the morning for hot music like that, but I don't care. It gives me energy. A cup of strong black coffee with a mound of sugar in it later and I am ready to run my dad's kingdom in his stead.

8:00 AM - You'd be bored to death if I told you how many goddess-damn spread sheets I have to fill out on the regular. I wish technology would get faster so we could do this on machines, like the kinds the US government has, instead of by print-calculator and hand. There's a lot I'd like to have, though. A better air conditioning unit. A less busy girlfriend (or devilishly handsome boyfriend). A damn glyph....

...Pretend you didn't see that.

Dad says magick ain't all its chalked up to be. Non magi (the 'bereft', if you want to be an archaic sounding asshole about it) always say their lives could be better if they could conjure the elements at will. Dad's always harping on how it takes energy out of you, how it lowers your lifespan (gee, thanks for soothing my anxiety, dad) and all sorts of stuff I almost half-believe. He does his best, I know. But in my heart, deep down, I know it would have been a lot easier on him if I had been born with magick. I guess I inherited that from Mom as well...though she never needed magick to be scary or powerful. 

I wonder how she's doing these days...

8:25 AM - More bills to pay. I cannot understand how a man who was once the premier athlete in his sport could be so damn bad at math! But that's always me, the one cleaning up dad's messes while he's out there running the show. It's not so bad. I could never be as outgoing as him. I'm more cool and reserved. 

I like my work. I like that it helps people. I like that I get to meet amazing spellbreakers with all sorts of personalities...and muscles, and great boobs (of either gender). Sometimes I do wish I could be more like them though. I'm sure dad wanted that too. Don't get me wrong, he's a good guy. He tries his best. I just don't think he ever got the whole 'father' thing down right. Not yet...

Payroll isn't til Friday so that can wait another day, but there's two guys of ours who have to be processed special since they're currently 'on loan' overseas. Now, I'll let you in on a secret. Dad says he doesn't like sending our fighters to other feds unless he thinks they're 'top dollar', and can act as ambassadors of the GSA. While this is mostly true, that doesn't apply to the two members of our roster currently absent.

Let's just say there's a reason he and I have bestowed them with the unofficial tag team 'the Prodigal Nightmares'. Not really a tag though. Those two brains of theirs would likely cancel each other out if they tried to actually team up, but they do have a habit of getting into trouble together. And often.

Dad sent them away because, while talented as hell, those two are absolute terrors. One was the former champ. The other, too powerful for his own good. The former champ is a delightful psychopath and one of my faves. The other is hot as hell and cool as ice, but always thinking with his fists or...certain other body parts of his. Dad needed to get them out of his hair, but something tells me we'll be hearing from them again real soon...

Moving on, I tear open a letter on the desk. I know who it is from based on the address, before I even read the name. John Henry Iron. AKA Mr. Iron. A giant of iron with a heart of gold. I miss him. He's such a good guy to have around, and...honestly...sometimes acted even more of a dad than my actual Dad.

Dear Colt,

How ya been, brother? I got your message. You'll find my teaching re-certification enclosed. I'll need to have a talk with Sandra before I finalize anything, but if I can get away for a few months, I'd be happy to come down and get this thing going.

Things are quiet in Manhattan. For once. Varla has pulled back a little as Laura starts school. She's not happy about it, but I think it'll be good for her. For them both.

I'll reach out as soon as I have an answer. Stay safe. Tell your good son, I said 'hi'. And go a little less hard on him! 

Warmest,

J.H.I.

I remove the certification, check for the signature and notary, and immediately file it where it needs to go. I make a note for dad. I'm sure he'll be pleased as punch. I know I am. John Henry brings lightness and order wherever he goes. Plus, he keeps dad's ego in check. 

It's mundane work today, but there's a big smile on my face. I love Mr. Iron. It would be great to have him down here, teaching. Besides, I know Spike would by really happy too.

Huh, I really do think about that little twerp a lot, don't I?

8:30 AM - I'm making good time today! Ok, let's look at some contracts. I love doing correspondence and scheduling with other feds (besides Firebird). Bad spelling. Grammatical errors. Ridiculous proposals. You start to feel really competent when you realize just who's in charge of all these promotions. Spellbreaking really hasn't come that far from the days when it was all circus sideshow. 

This communication is from Okami, though, and they're a dream to work with. Always very professional. Also, being Japanese, they go through translators who actually know how to string a proper sentence together. I know dad's been excited to work with them for awhile since they traded Kengo to us (and wow, has it been awesome to see his progress!) Looks like we're going to be trading one of ours to them. I wonder which one of the boys...

!!!

No, not one of the boys... 

One of the ladies. 

My lady. 

Well, not my lady, we never did get around to defining what we were. But there it is. In black and white. Signed and sealed. 

Rosa is going to Japan.

I'm tackled from both sides by emotions. The first: I'm so damn happy for her. She's fought like hell. She's one of the best spellbreakers we have, even at her level, and I kept telling dad this. Maybe it finally got through to him. Couldn't have been easy. She's like a daughter to him, I know (maybe she could have been a daughter-in-law...) Dad's oblivious to just about everything, and though I never told him, I think he knew we were kind of a thing. This is great news. 

But there's the other side of the coin. I feel like someone's just stabbed my in the chest. I feel betrayed. Why didn't she tell me? She's always so open. I try to be open with her too. Now, she's leaving Texas. Off to Japan. I know her and I know myself; we're not prepared to do a long distance thing.

I lean back in my office chair and cover my face with my hands. "Oh my Goddesss..." I'm annoyed. I need to hit something. Fuck this. Work can wait.

9:35 AM - "Oh, does that hurt? That's too bad. Because..."

I jump from to the top rope and slam the practice dummy into the canvas. The crash echoes across the walls of the practice ring. 

"I was just getting started, jobber." I'm in my short shorts and cut-off tank. Not exactly a spellbreaker. But when my eyes meet my reflection in the mirror, all full of cold anger, I know I'm not one to fuck with.

I'm also an idiot. Glad none of the others boys are here to see me in the ring. They'd wonder what the hell I'm doing. Sure, there's some niches on the market for what they're calling 'professional wrestling' (which is a confusing name, for one). It's basically spellbreaking without the spells. Non-magi like me. 

Ol' Buck, without his father's gifts...

"Oh, you thought I was done?" I slam my fist into the dummy's face. And I don't stop. I picture the prettyboy in my head, getting less prettier each time I break another part of his jaw. That's what I feel like doing right now—taking something away from someone. Their looks. Their power. Their freedom.

Don't get me wrong. No dark thoughts in Rosa's direction. I'd only ever fight a woman in the ring, and to be honest, my 'girlfriend' was not someone I'd ever pick a fight with. That's what I liked about her. She was sweet. Caring. But an absolute devil in the ring. I know a lot of you dudes out there mostly drool over guys, and I don't blame you (look at the studs I work with on the regular!) but she was something else. She was power. She was...

"Fuck!" I wince and pull back my fist. Hit the stupid dummy too hard and now I just probably broke my knuckle. I'm being dramatic. I can see Mr. Wheeler about if I'm really concerned. 

"Fuck this," I spit, leaving my 'KO'd opponent' to get scraped off the mats by the crew. "And fuck all you losers too." I step out of the ring and flip off the invisible audience. It's good to be bad.

Bad Buck? Nah, doesn't stick...

What, you thought I'd be a hero like my daddy? Sure, he's tough, but he's boring. All those cute guys he gets his hands on, and he could really play with them like I would...but he doesn't. Mr. Wonderful. My dad. Gotta' love him. How could you not? But it's so much more fun to play rebel. I know it would piss him off! Would definitely get his attention...

I'm slurping some water from the fountain when I hear the ring door open. My eyes widen in embarrassment. Shit. At least they didn't walk in on me when I was in-ring...I'd never live that down. I turn, glaring at who dared come in.

Spike's pretty face, perpetually starry eyed, glows from across the room.

That million-dollar smile. "Oh, Buck!"

My little ray of sunshine. I wonder how many hearts he's broken with that smile. You just can't help but feel good around Spike. He's like a golden retriever, and probably just as intelligent. No brain; no headache. Just vibes. 

He's also got an ass shaped by the hand of the Goddess herself. 

Dad's been real clear what would happen to me if I messed with any of the roster (which is a bit hypocritical, and maybe even a bit biphobic of him, considering he's gotta' be sure as shit I've been shacking up with Rosa). What I'd give for just one night with the Pinup Prince. That body. That kind of feminine, kinda rough voice. He's a walking contradiction. I would change his life...

Which is why I always have to play it cool around him. Tease him. Keep him off my scent. I walk over to him, arms crossed, a smirk that cut granite plastered across my face. 

"Hey, dweeb," I tell him. "Ain't you supposed to be at the promo shoot?"

Dad's got us taking new promo pics for this World Tour we got coming up. A real headache. Gloria, our photographer, and the best in the business, is on campus today orchestrating the whole thing (one less task for me to worry about). Of course, there's a fine line between talent and insanity, and Gloria toes it well. She's a basket case, but her work is excellent. 

Spike scratches his head and plays with his hair in that cute way he probably doesn't even realize. "Oh...that's right. I was just looking for Joseph. I thought he'd be here. He trains at weird hours."

I cock an eyebrow at that odd remark. "You might as well be trying to track down a damn unicorn," I tell Spike. Wow, his arms are looking bigger these days. He's like a bodybuilder in miniature, with a cherub's face. I hear he's got a reputation. So do I. And how I would love to ruin both of ours even more...

"Joseph is a free spirit," I explain. "He comes and goes and has no set schedule. Dad gives him free reign." The damn prettyboy champ. Sure, White Tiger is one of the best spellbrekers and our longest running champ, but I hate how dad always prioritizes the babyfaces. I miss Deadboy. Deadboy sure was a hell of a lot fun when he was the champ. Even though he did sorta try to take over the GSA and turn us all into his zombie valets...

But I'm sure that was just one of his practical jokes. He wouldn't harm a fly.

A human, however...

"Damn it," Spike pouts. He's so cute when he's upset. Ah fuck it, he's just cute in general. I want to pinch those cheeks of his (both sets). "I wanted to ask him to be my mentor. Everyone's got one now! But..." He sighs. "Ah...fuggedahbout it..."

I bite my tongue. White Tiger's already selected Kengo for mentorship. I would never tell Spike this to his face, but of all his peers, Kengo shows the most aptitude at the moment. But I can't break Spike's heart. I mean, just look at him! It would be like kicking a puppy. 

"Maybe he'll be at the photoshoot!" I tell him. I gotta' think fast. Spike has a way of slowly charming the information out of you. He's a lot smarter than he thinks he is. We're screwed if he ever realizes this. Nobody with an ass like that should also be intelligent...it would be simply too much power for one twink.

"By the way..." Spike starts. He bites his lip (I swear, every thing he does is designed to look adorable). "Your dad. Does he...uh...have a girlfriend?"

"Spike, for the last time, aside from messing around with John Henry in the locker rooms...and that Billy twink from years ago...dad is pretty much straight. He's not going to date you."

He turns bright red. Just what I wanted. "N-no! Not that! I mean, hey, if he's..." he shakes his head. "I saw him with a pretty girl at the Vegas show! A...younger girl. Like our age."

Inside, I feel myself suddenly age faster. I let out a long, tired sigh. I've here before. "Go on..."

"She was really pretty! Kind of wore a funky outfit. Lot of lace. Groovy pendent of a sunflower. Said she was a Light magi. I think her name was--"

"Lily!" I finish for him, laughing. I can't stop. Ah no, I snorted in front of Spike! He's going to think I'm such a dork. Wait though, Lily Suarez was over here? How dare she not drop by and say 'hey'! Ugh. Chicks, I swear...

I clear my throat and take back my power. "You himbo, that's my childhood friend! Lily and I went to school together. Colt basically raised her himself. She's one of the smartest damn people I know. Isn't she working for the glyph institute overseas?" Why the hell would she come to a spellbreaking tournament? She always used to think it was silly...

Spike shrugs. "Dunno, but I agree with you about the being very smart thing. Not that I would know what that's like. She sounded really interested in all that weird stuff that's been happening lately."

"Be more specific, twunk." I smile at him. I would never want to hurt Spike's feelings...maybe just put him in a camel clutch and see him squirm a little for me. "What do you mean?"

"Like the accident at the gala. And the accident backstage with the security guard."

"Ah yeah, I heard about that. It is odd." This is the stuff that puts me, already a guy with a healthy level of anxiety, on edge. It's always the handsome ones with the mental illnesses, right? 

I don't like that dad's messing with Firebird. Those Russian feds are crooks. Like the mafia. In bed with weirdos like the Alchemists. Dad think's he's invincible. A hero. Sometimes I believe it. But if Lily is worried about recent events...

I do what I do best and that is...change the subject. I grab my gear bag. "Hey, I'll walk you over to the shoot." I make a deliberate point to check my wrist watch, even though I know (with my impeccable organization skills) the shoot won't be for another half hour...plus a twelve minute spill-over for Gloria, who's always late to things.

Spike looks between me and the ring. "Hey...you look sweaty." He grins. "It's very hunky. But what were you doing? Practicin'?

Kill me now. Kill me now. Kill me now. "Uhhhhhhhh...."

"I bet you'd make a great pro wrestler," Spike says, with great enthusiasm. I try to scan his face for the sarcasm. None. "I know it's not as popular as spellbreaking, but hey, not everyone can have a glyph, right? Doesn't mean you can't kick ass. Plus...I'm sure there's plenty of hunky wrestlers too."

It's a little insulting, but I'll let it slide. "Thanks," I say shyly. I feel naked in front of this stud, and not in the way I'd want. Plus, I'm still sore over the news about Rosa. "So, the studio. Let's go! Maybe we can grab a coffee at the canteen. My treat?"

"Oh wow!" You think I'd just laid a golden crown on his pretty head (and boy, does a king like that deserve it). "Thanks, Buck. You're the best."

"Tell me something I don't know, Yankee." Not thinking (damn ADD brain) I give Spike a playful tap on the ass. He's wearing work out shorts. Tight workout shorts.

It's like touching the ass of a god. Instant boner. And butterflies too.

Spike blushes. I blush. Oh fuck, what have I done! We don't say anything to each other. In spellbreaking, as in wrestling, it's advantageous to wait for the other guy to make the first move.

I think Spike and I might be staring each other down on the mats for a long, long while...

10:30 - Okay, so let me tell you about Gloria Delgado. She and Dad go way back, and no, I don't think she and Dad were ever an item. Gloria is probably the one woman he would respect too much to make a move. Plus, dad likes a bit of strange, but Gloria is...eccentric.

"HELLO, MY SWEET MUSES!" the curly haired woman with the giant, cat's eye glasses and the leopord print scarf around her neck, says as she throws open the door to the studio space. It nearly breaks off its hinges.

The boys (and Rosa) all shuffle around, half in our gear, half in our civilian attire. The studio space is really just a glorified storage closet with a canvas draped over the back. Imagine fitting a bunch of gym bunnies and muscle guys in there and you can understand why most people loathe promo photo days. That's all coupled with the fact that....in all honesty...most spellbreakers are shy, insecure nerds when not in character. Hard for some of the guys to really bring out their personality in a single frame.

Of course, Iggy, our resident artist, is all smiles. Dressed in green fishnet stockings over his signature pink briefs, he prances over to our fabulous photographer. They shed glittery stardust with each footstep.

"Look, all!" they squeak. "Perfection is here. Look at you, pretty lady! Kisses. Kisses."

"Ah, my best subject," Gloria squeaks back. "How is the weather lately on planet Iggy?"

"Oh you know, same old same old..." They walk off to the back room together. Nobody realizes it but me, but Iggy's a damn genius. He's taken the heat off the rest of the boys. Made them less pressured. They can steel themselves for Gloria's rapid directions later.

I try to not let my eyes wander and my mouth water amid this room of beefcakes. I busy myself by setting up the camera. Rosa is the only one who approaches me. Of course...

"Hey!"

She's all smiles. Like she doesn't know. Fine. I'll play this game. I smile back at her, trying to pretend like nothing's wrong. We talk about getting dinner, but she's got training later (figures). There's nothing in her voice that lets on that she's hiding something. You can always tell when someone's a bit nervous. She's really good. It...hurts.

Gloria comes back before I can hit her with the "Can we talk?" bomb. A deadly finisher, that sentence. No kicking out of that one. 

But she's suddenly called to help Calypso with a loose seam. Rosa has her little sewing kit on hand at all times. She's our resident gear doctor. Don't know what these idiots are going to do when she's gone...

The shoot begins. Gloria is all: "Yes, yes, work that angle. Ah, no, you're holding back. No, no. show me your SPIRIT! RIP open your torso, sunder your flesh, and expose the TRUE YOU! Bring forth the wild beast within! YES! That's it! More passion!"

I generally love watching giant men suffer, but even this is too much. Eventually, El Amante and Iggy have to push poor Kengo in his little fundoshi out in front of the camera. He looks bright red, hunched over, shy. Mind you, I have seen this man toss two guys out of a ring in one go and not bat an eyelash...

"Look at YOOUUUU," Gloria says, arms gesticulating wildly to Kengo's handsome bulk. "My delicious, beefy burrito with guacamole on the side. That face! That body! The camera melts, Kengo!"

I try to open my mouth to tell her to dial it down, but there's no stopping her. Her encouragement is overwhelming. Kengo looks like he's going to die. I worry his bear spirit might emerge and freak out on everyone if this keeps up. Minoru can be...very defensive of his soul-bonded partner.

Kengo swallows. He looks over at me. "I...am...not use to this."

"It's okay, bud!" I tell him. But I don't even believe my own encouragement. I look over at Spike, pleadingly. Tag in, tag in!

What's interesting about Spike is that he always has this kind of perpetually curious, almost blank expression on his face. I think that's why people call him a 'himbo'. But really, I believe his brain and my mine are very similar. It's not that he's absent of thoughts....it's quite the opposite. He's always thinking. Overthinking...

But when a situation arises that calls for quick action...well...you should see his face light up. That's when he looks like a babyface hero, ready to step in and take action.

"Hey, Kengo!" Spike, still dressed in his sweats and baseball T-shirt, jump in and places his hands gently on Kengo's meaty shoulders (and yes, it's adorable that he has to reach up to do so). "Here, turn your body out like this. Let's see a hint of that butt."

"S-S-SPIKE!" Kengo stammers. He takes a deep breath. "Oh...okay."

My eyes narrow. Was it magick that Spike used, or something else? Whatever his power, Kengo relaxes. Maybe there really is something in that Yankee boy's smile...

Arms crossed over chest, Kengo's whole personality shifts from demure to confident, ass-kicking sumo (with a great ass). It's editorial.  

Gloria loses it. "Y-YES! This is what I LIKE TO SEE! Oh, Kengo, you sexy, beefy little gyoza. The camera wants more. FEED THE CAMERA! Yes. Turn! Look at that healthy butt."

Surrounded by morons and maniacs who could wipe out the entirety of the Texas army. And I'm the guy who processes their payroll. That's me.

The shoot continues. Spike's next. "What, MY turn?" He's fake shy, transparently so. I'm not the only one who rolls their eyes as he approaches the camera. "Oh, but I'm so bad at this, you know..."

I have never seen a man drop his pants faster, or whip off his shirt. My eye roll quickly turns into an eye bulge. Spike is a cutie out of costume too, but when you see him in his natural glory...well...you realize why people call him the Pinup Prince. I wish I were a poet and not an artist—to describe his body. It's like...if the Statue of David had stunted growth from drinking too much coffee.

Told you I wasn't a poet.

Every flex. Every pose. Perfect. Spike's eyes shine, somewhere between hero and homme fatale. The bad boy gone good. To make things worse, his skimpy briefs (I won't elaborate; I'll keep it clean) are the ones I gave him for his birthday. The navy blue velvet with the white anchor. I designed them. Rosa fabricated them. 

He must have caught me staring. As Spike lowers his arm from his signature, single bicep flex, he looks over at me. His confidence wavers. He blushes.

What...no. Buck, don't get your damn hopes up. This bite-size warrior angel is surrounded by Greek gods. What makes you think he'd ever toss a wanting glance in your direction, tom-cat?

Thankfully, Gloria's endless fawning over her subjects derails my self-deprecating train of thought. "Oh my, Spike, you bite-sized, sugar dusted, cinnamon donut. I think might ned to put you in my pocket and take you back to San Francisco. You know how to bring out all the right angles."

Hands on hips, massive pecs pushed out, Spike smiles like the damn hero he is. "Aw shucks. Thanks, ma'am. I have a lot of experience!" 

I hate to feed his ego, but it's damn true. Spike is a like a sun. Everyone seems drawn by his light, or orbits around him. He brings out the energy in people, turning shy bearcubs into sumo studs, and even making flamboyant narcissists like Iggy Astro take note. 

Speaking of which, I've noticed a slight shift in their communications with each other. Used to be, Iggy would enter a room and Spike would suddenly make an excuse to use run away to the bathroom. Now? Those two get off to each other's teasing and threats.

"You look like a little boy playing around in his underwear."

"At least I'm actually wearing real gear...and don't look like I'm about to jump out of a cake for drunken women to throw dollars at."

"Hm. I think perhaps I will chokeslam you into this floor right now and end your miserable life."

"Do it. But you better sit on my face."

"YOU better sit on my face." 

And then the shared laughing, usually with Iggy snatching Spike in a headlock (maybe just a little tighter than necessary) and giving him a noogie. It's...disgustingly adorable. And just a bit hot too?

"What about you, Buck?"

I look up from the camera. I was just about ready to take the tripod down. "We're done," I tell Spike. Half the guys have already left, eager to get out of the room as quick as possible. Rosa's already gone off to Gio's offensive magick class.

Spike points to the camera in front of me. "I know you're aren't on the roster, but why don't we see you strut yourself too!"

Is...this just an excuse to see me in gear? I play it cool. Dad always told me how to make sure what's going on inside doesn't show on your face. "Since when am I speallbreaker, Spike? Don't waste Gloria's film."

"WASTE!?" the curly haired woman gasps. It's like I spit in her face. "It would be a privilege to capture the handsome—yet roguish—countenance of the heir to the Tamberly spellbreaking dynasty."

"Eh..." I scratch my head and smile. I would like to die. Spike, what was that you said about sitting--

"Come on," Spike says, "don't you got gear?"

Well, yes? "Er...just some black training trunks in my gym bag? But I-" 

"Hmmm wait a moment. Let me grab something from the costume chest."

Spike runs off before I can stop him. I hate to see him go, but damn, do I love to watch him leave. I'm an artist, but not even I could sculpt a butt like his.

I check my watch. I'm late for my next thing. There's a reason why I keep a schedule. Still, when a pretty boy asks you to take off your pants and flex for him, you don't say no. Spike returns with a leather jacket with copious amounts of fringe, somewhere between genuinely badass and a bit costumey.

"Hey, I recognize that!" I take the jacket. Heavier than it looks. "One of dad's gear designers made it for him but he never used it. Said, 'Only villains wear dark colors like that.'"   

Spike gives me his heart-breaking smile. "Well. Are you a bad boy, Buck."

The beast inside me suddenly hungers, but I hold my tongue, giving Spike a sly, mischievous look. I feel self-conscious stripping down in front of him, so I disappear behind the canvas and slip into my black trunks, boots, and this leather jacket number. 

"Well. How do I look?"

Spike and Gloria both look like I just whipped it out and pissed on the floor.

I bit my lip. "Oh...not good?"

Spike opens his mouth to say something, but Gloria gets there first.

"OH, MY PRECIOUS BUCK! YOU TALL SLICE OF DARK, GERMAN CHOCOLATE CAKE. LOOK AT YOU! You already have an attitude for the camera. Yes, give us a mean look, go on now!"

She snaps away. I try not to panic.

"Er...Like this?" I put my hands on my hips and glare. Growing up around spellbreakers, you know how to capture the look of a promo. It's second nature to me. I study details in posters and fliers that most people miss, but they all really do add up. A bunch of subtle things making a greater whole.

"Shit..." Spike finally says.

I break from my icy stare at my invisible victim. "It's...shit!?"

"NO! I mean...." Spike is stuttering. I've never seen him do this before. I've also never seen him compose himself and not look like a good ball, pinup slut, or a badass fighter. Whatever this Spike whose looking at me and smiling at me now...I want to see more of him.

"Buck, you totally look like a real, sexy heel."

I'm taken aback. But I don't show it. Instead, I give him a dark look and a sneer that cut burn this whole studio down. "Dman, boy. I am a real, sexy heel." Not entirely sure what's come over myself, I drop the jacket to the ground and flex both my biceps, looking at myself like I'm the hottest thing since Colt 'The Bolt'. "And I don't even need magick to know that."

It's a whopper, but it lands. "Damn..." I hear Spike squeek. And...cross his legs?"

I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind Gloria. I...do look badass. Well, I look like a badass who isn't as jacked and muscular as most of these studs. A badass with promise. Pity I don't have a glyph of my own. Always in the office, doing my best to make these boys look good, when I should be out there outshining them all. This sport doesn't know what it's missing...

But, the universe likes to put cocky guys like me in its place. Next thing I now, dad's standing there, having burst through the room in his signature 'look at me!' style.

"Hey, folks, what's..." 

There's no hiding. I've been caught in the act. I'd rather dad having walked in on me jerking it to one of the old fliers of Apollo Champion... (there's...precedent for that).

"Oh, Bucky."

"Hi...Dad."

Dad clears his throat. Spike and Gloria are frozen still behind him. Needless to say, the mood in the room has changed.

"What's...with the getup, son?"

"I was just..." I swallow, and pick up the jacket from the floor. "Er...neverm ind."

I'm not sure what Dad is thinking. He looks at me blankly. "Shouldn't you be working on fliers?" But his serious tone drops. "Hahaha! Come on, bad boy. Leave the poses to the professionals."

It's a tone both playful, forgiving, and just a tiny bit backhanded. In other words, how Dad talks to me most of the time.

I look at the ground. "Thanks..." I don't want to look at anybody. I don't even want to punch a wall. I just want to burst into flames. I quickly put my jeans and shirt on and try and duck out of the room before Spike or anybody else says something to me.

As I get to the door, Dad calls back.

"Hey, Bucko."

I wince. "Hm?"

"That fringe don't look half bad on you, son! You pulled it off better than I did when I wore that. And that's a damn fact."

I cock my head to the side and wonder if this is Dad realizing he was a bit of a dick to me a few moments ago. Or...maybe this is encouragement. From him? 

"But just remember, there's no way in Hell Colt the 'Bolt' would raise a bad guy!"

I smile. "Thanks." 

Heh. We'll see about that, old man...

1:40 PM - After lunch.

Gio and I, in the garden. It's not big. Just a little courtyard space between the canteen and the gym. A few planters. A few pots. Rosa, myself, and Gio are practically the only people who use ot. Surprise, 2/3 have a glyph involving plants.

Hunched over a planter, GIo gently spreads soil. It's calming, watching a giant man like him doing something so serene like this. "The basil is coming in. But there is...eh...not enough."

"We do need more herbs."

"Yes. The tomatoes are looking good, Buck! You would almost think you had the same glyph as me."

"Mmm. Thanks."

"Did Gloria make you tired again? She makes me tired. She is good but..."

"I know, big guy. I know. Poison to us introverts. Sill, she's important. She has a glyph too, you know. It allows her to translate for us when we're abroad. She'll be coming on the tour to photograph and act as our translator."

"Ah!"

"Hey, Gio. Has...Rosa talked to you about anything important lately?"

"Important? Like what?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm...just being weird."

"Hmm." Gio wipes his large hands on his apron and then pats me on the head, like I'm Zeus the cat. "You are not weird, Buck. You just think a lot. You are very important to all of us."

I blink. It's...hard to take a compliment. Especially when you feel like the weakest link out of the whole crew. Still, I smile all the same as I place a succulent into the new pot, its new home.

"Thanks, Gio. I needed to hear that today."

3:30 PM - The day is dying down. I'll be off work soon, out of this musty office.

Working on fliers for the big tour. Reading Dad's notes.

The lines need to be bolder here. I don't like this font; it's too 'side-show'. Put me more front in center on this poster. Make my nose look less big. You need to work on your shading here more. Remember, this is due in a week.

Dad...sure has an interesting way of giving feedback.

Nothing I do ever seems good enough for him. There's always a comment, well-intended or not. He seems short on compliments these days. All this work, hardly a thank-you. Can't go to Vegas. Can't go to to pro school. All because I'm the one who has to run this damn company while its president goes out there strutting around in his underwear...

Someone knocks at the office door.

I wince. I'd kill for a joint right now (but Heaven help me if Dad found out...). "Enter," I say. "If you dare."

Ah, I see we're on a damn lucky streak today. Rosa, ponytail and smiles, enters the room. I'm hit by the smell of her perfume and the undercurrent of a gal who's just been kicking people's ass the last hour or so. The huntress to my apex predator. Or at least, that's what we used to joke to each other.

"Howdy, cowboy," she says. "Sorry, I'd love to stay and chat but...

I've heard this story before...

"I gotta' grab a purchase order form. We're running low on thread. And with the tour coming up I have a feeling I'm gonna be on call a lot for costume emergencies.

I raise an eyebrow. Something's not adding up. I think it's time I ripped the band-aid off here. Thing about anxiety, about knowing you need to have a 'conversation', is that it feels like you're holding a grenade without a pin in your hand. Chuck the damn thing. Let it blow.

I pull Okami's offer from beneath my skull paperweight. "There's no good way to bring this up," I start, trying to sound calm. "But I saw this." I hand her the paper. 

She stares at it, perplexed. Several different expressions cross her face. When she's done, she looks up at me and places it on the desk.

"Ah," she says. "Wow. Damn."

"That's it?" I ask her. "When were you going to tell me?"

I regret the accusatory tone. Rosa gives me a 'who do you think you're talking to' look. "Sorry? Buck...I had no idea. Shit..." she breathes out, bewildered. Her hand runs to her ponytail and she begins playing with her hair. A nervous gesture.

"You...didn't know?"

"Not...exactly." She sighs. Whatever she was about to do, it can wait. She takes the seat opposite me but doesn't say anything. Behind her, Zeus sleeps, nestled between a snake plant and an African violet. Ah, to be a cat and not have to worry about navigating relationships. 

"Colt asked me if I would be interested in going over to Japan," Rosa says. She looks up. "It wasn't a done deal. I just said I would be interested. I was going to talk to you about it first."

I roll my eyes. "Then why didn't you?"

"I don't know," she shrugs. "But don't act like how you usually do."

"What the hell does that mean, Rosa?"

"I'm not your opponent, Buck," she shoots back. "I'm not trying to hurt you here. You don't need to freeze me out."

She knows me too damn well. It's true. If I feel slighted, a wall goes up. I'm quick to sever ties. "You really didn't know." I make it sound like a statement and a question.

She shakes her head, slowly. "Fuck. I don't know what to do. Colt really just asked me...I didn't think..."

No. That sounds exactly like Dad, king of the mixed motives. I wonder how much of Rosa and I's relations factored into his proposal. "I believe you," I tell her. The next part though, stings the most. 

When you learn how to fall, or take a bump, you're basically forcing your body to go against its instincts and what it would normally do to avoid impact. It's like fighting against every cell. What I tell Rosa is...a lot like that. I have to force the words out, because at the end of the day, I know it's the right thing.

"You should go," I tell her.

"I don't need your approval," she says. But it's not mean. She's right, of course. She is her own person. "I know you're not an asshole, Buck. You wouldn't want me to stay just for..." she flits her hand away.

For the undefined, 'not relationship' we're both in with each other? It's true, we never did make it official. Again, love and wrestling are more alike than not. Neither of us was read to make that move. Give it a name.

She smirks. "As if two doms could make it work, anyway, right?"

It stings. I really want to cry. But, the other side of the coin is seeing her get to kick ass.

"Look," she says, getting up. "I need to give it some thought. This is a big deal. I mean, Japan? That's like...the other side of the world. That's crazy."

She's going to take the offer. I already know she is. Still, I appreciate the show of hesitancy. "Hey, let's get dinner tomorrow. You can tell me what ideas you want me to implement in the flier for your final match before you go overseas."

6: 10 PM - Dinner with dad. These dinners together and getting less and less frequent these days.

I'm a half decent cook. Dad could burn water. Gio's been showing me how to make lasagne, so I heat some up from the other night.

"Leftovers, eh," Dad says, pushing around the pasta on his plate with a fork. He sprinkles a generous helping of salt on the lasagne. "Needs more flavor if you're gonna reheat it."

I put my fork down and glare at him but he's too busy chewing and looking at the roster list for the Mexico show coming up, the first stop on this ridiculous world tour. Sounds like a good way to open us up to more of Firebrid's schemes. Or, maybe that's the idea. Dad is either oblivious or playing the part real well. Something tells me, the last few weeks anyway, he's been more involved in looking into Firebird's shady dealings than I first thought.

"Saw Rosa's invitation come in," I tell Dad blankly.

His face brightens. "Oh yeah! Shit, I forgot about that. I hope she takes the offer. She'll be great. A real damn star." He shrugs. "Kinda thought we were never good enough for her anyway. She should have stayed down with Calavera Escarlata's academy."

"But you know how misogynist his school can be, dad."

"Ah, she's a tough girl, Bucky. She could handle it."

I try to restrain my frustration. It is difficult. "Why didn't you tell me about this offer?"

"Huh? Well, I figured you'd find out anyway, and it was just kind of a spur of the moment idea...until it wasn't." He smiles. So confident. So sure all of his choices are the best ones. 

For all of us.

"Did...you know about us?" I'm feeling bold. Maybe stupid. It's not smart to anger Dad. He's gentle as a lamb with me, but he can yell some, and it...it can be a lot to deal with.

He straightens his back. He's all business now. "What do you mean, son? That you two had some kinda' puppy love thing going on? Yeah, I knew about it. Didn't say anything because I was thankful you weren't foolin' around one of these big dumb himbos." He returns to playing with his lasgane, pushing it around the plate with his fork. Just eat the damn thing!

"Men are scum," he sniffs. "Take it from me. I used to be a player back in the day. Now, don't get me wrong. I don't have any issue with you messing around with guys. But I know spellbreakers. You'd get your heart broken and I'd have to break the arm of whoever did it to you."

"But you were fine with me and a girl?"

He gives me a hard look. "That's not.." he trails off. Now, he's 'ornery'. "What's all this about, anyway? Would I rather you not date one of our roster? Hell yeah. You know I've been in this business for just about as long as Calavera. I seen what these fed bosses get away with; the shit they do to their own people. You want the truth? I'll give it to you. I think Rosa's salt of the Earth. Would be a privilege to have her as daughter. But it's not a good look for the son of the fed president to be going around courting her. People will get ideas. Think I'm playing favorites. It would become a whole fine mess, son." 

The metal of the fork in my hand is getting hotter by the second as I squeeze down on it, trying to hold back my anger.

But Dad doesn't let up once you get him going. "Look. Rosa deserves to shine. I encouraged her to go to Okami. Maybe some of it was about business, yes. But if she turns it down, I wouldn't tell her she was doing wrong. I want her to be happy. I want her to find her path, in her own way. But I also know talent. She's something new. She's going to take this sport in a new direction, and she needs to set out into the big, bad world in order to make that happen."

Dad pisses me off because he speaks the truth, whether you want to hear or not. Yet, there's always the self-serving part to Colt. I wait for the other shoe to drop.

Sure enough... "Besides, Rosa is a Rivera-Rosado, one of the best spellbreaking dynasties out there. Now, I could see how you two would make plenty sense. The Prince of spellbreaking and the Princess getting together. Hell, that would make one great storyline. But that's a fairytale, Buck. You know what would really happen? Guys would get jealous. El Amante would get weird and protective. And then...what happens if you broke up, huh? What kinda' fallout does that leave me to smooth over?" He shakes his head, radiating disappointment. 

I slam down the fork as I sit up. Dad doesn't even flinch. 

I glare at him. "I need to take a walk."

He stares me down like I'm one of his opponents. "You do that, son."

7:10 PM - The air is getting cooler. The sky is clear and starry. Insects sing. Fall is just around the corner now.

Though about going back to the training ring and kicking the shit out of that dummy some more. Instead, I've been doing circles around campus, weaving in and out of barns and buildings, trying to keep my head on straight.

It's too much. Rosa. The world tour. The expectation to perform or to put out good work. Dad is demanding, and he says it's because he wants people to succeed. I know the truth. It's because he wants to look good. I think not becoming Global Champion (which he could have been, easily) gave him a complex.

Or maybe I'm just looking for flaws to be mad at. It's easy to love Colt. 

It's hard to be his son.

Must be hallucinating. I'm hearing music. Soft guitar. Androgynous, angelic vocals. I follow the sound to the fence outside the dorms. 

Quiet nights of quiet stars 

Quiet chords from my guitar

Floating on the silence that surrounds us...

Iggy Astro, in torn jeans and a pink crop top beneath a green flannel, sits on the fence and strums along on their guitar. They don't see me. I stand and listen, knowing they'll stop once I get closer. Something about being the boss' son...it puts people on their best behavior. It also has the tendency to make them self-conscious. Even pathological divas like Astro.

I wait for them to finish. They sigh, and mutter something underneath their breath in Portuguese. It's weird to see them....sad? Longing? I've noticed Victor, El Amante, not hanging around them as much. It's weird, you know. When they started dating, they were attached at the hip. If El Amante wasn't at the level he was, Dad would have been pissed off. But if he likes you, Dad let's you get away with a lot.

Iggy, ever perceptive, notices me. "Oh, it's the handsome Buck."

I smile. Being a bad guy is effortless for Iggy. So is being nice. I wish I was like that, scary and lovely. "Hey, Iggy. You already know this, but your guitar skills are awesome. I wish I could play guitar like you."

He laughs musically. "If you could, you'd have to beat the girls and boys away with sticks. You would simply be too powerful, kitten."

He's beautiful. Or they. Ugh, a bisexual's dream. Someone who could be either gender, or neither. Wish all of humanity was like that. They're would be a hell of a lot less war...

"I'll leave you alone. I was just out for a walk."

They cock their head to the side, letting his long, gorgeous pink hair fall over his shoulders. I immediately push out the desire to have a crush on him. "You look..." he pauses. "Hm. Are you okay?"

"Just tired from work," I lie. Well, it's not exactly a lie.

"I was just out here waiting for someone," he says, resting the acoustic guitar in his lap. He holds up his hand. "Four...three...two...one..."

At the end of the path, the door to the dorms swings open. Spike stands there. "Ice cream time!" he declares excitedly to no one. 

Iggy and exchange a knowing and amused look, either of us trying not to giggle.

"Doo doo doo, ice cream time...do do doooo." Spike notices us and freezes. "Oh..."

"Off to the commissary?" I say, smiling at him.

Iggy licks his fingers. "Vanilla...or strawberry?" 

He looks between me and Iggy. "Uh...am in trouble?"

"No, kitten," Iggy laughs, hopping off the fence.

"You're...not gonna break that guitar over my head, are ya?"

"And waste it on your empty noggin?" Iggy shoots back. "How did your talk with Joseph go?"

Spike sighs. "He said he would be honored to be my mentor...before telling me had already picked Kengo." The sailorboy crosses his arms, pouting. "Cian has Gio. Blue Dragon has Viki. I can't think of anybody else to ask now..."

A glowing construct in the shape of a neon lightbulb appears over Iggy's head, nearly blinding me and causing me to yelp. "Oh, but I can," Iggy starts, wickedly. He bows gracefully for Spike. "I know you would just love for me to be your mentor," he says, before sinisterly narrowing his eyes. "And I know you won't tell your favorite bad guy 'no'. Even you are smarter than that."

Spike is taken aback. Suddenly I forgot what I was mad about. "M-me? But. I'm the rising babyface king of the GSA! My mentor can't be a heel! It's...it's not tradition!"

"Fuck tradition," Iggy says. He puts down the guitar, dissipates his 'light bulb' and takes Spike's hands in his. "Let's be little rebels together, kitten. You are so talented. I could teach you so much more. We play our roles well, sure, but who cares? What did I tell you back in Vegas?"

Spike suddenly looks embarrassed. What...did happen in Vegas, I wonder now? "That shadow can't exist without light. And light can't shine brighter without darkness."

"Exactly," Iggy says. "You said that you were trying to expand your magick, yeah? Trying to work on your energy barrier. I can help you. Light is just energy. It works the same as your force magick. It's tricky, but I can show you how to make it work." He smiles. It's...one of the rare times I haven't seen him pull an 'evil' smile. If this is a work, he's damn good at it. I sense it's not.

I know what lonely eyes look like. Iggy is...he wants company. A student. An admirer. I forget how far away from his home they are some time...

I'm not sure if it's because Spike is scared of saying no, or he's actually interested. He looks briefly over at me before nodding his head with enthusiasm. "Okay! Especially if it means we can hang out more." 

That's the thing about this industry. One day, you're literally kicking the organs out of your opponent, the next day, you're best friends. Or vice versa. 

"Well," Iggy says, sing-song like, picking up their guitar, "now that this is settled...I am off to go put some cucumbers over my eyes." He blows a kiss to us both. Boa noite, handsomes."

8:00 PM - 

"This is the last item on my schedule, Spike."

"Then I'm glad I'm here to help, Buck!"

"Ugh, it's no fair. You can carry both those boxes in either arm!"

"And you...can't? Come on, Buck, you're strong too! You have nice muscles."

"Not as nice as yours."

"Iggy told me that 'comparison is the thief of joy'. I still don't know what that means, but he'd probably say that right about now."

"Yeah...hey, did Rosa tell you about..."

"Okami? Yeah. She did. Can I be honest?"

"With me? Always."

"I'm...I'm afraid to lose my best friend here."

"Same. Ugh, there's going to be too much testosterone around with her gone, Spike! I can't stand it."

"...Can I ask a question?"

"Just ask it, Yankee."

"Were you two like...a thing?"

"Not so himbo after all, are you? Yes. We were. But...it was just a silly thing."

"I don't think love is silly."

"It wasn't love. Maybe it was...the early stages. I dunno. I've had some girlfriends in the past, but we never to got that point."

"...Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

"Not yet, but I think after this...yeah, I'd be open to it. It's hard to explain. Men and woman are very different. And very alike. Hey, can I ask you a question, Spike?

"Shoot."

"You and Iggy. Las Vegas. Well?"

"GAH! Okay yeah, we hooked up. But to be fair, I was really horny."

"You're always really horny."

"I kinda' had a crush on them for a moment, Buck. But then I remembered him and Victor. And I don't need a giant luchador coming after me..."

"After, or 'on'?"

"Aw, Buck, gross! Hahaha. I mean, sure..."

"Those two are open, anyway, Spike. He'd probably encourage it. Hell, you could have worked your way into a threesome...but that would have probably killed you. Then again, it is you we're talking about here."

"Are you coming on the tour with us, Buck?"

"Parts of it. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, just..."

"..."

"..."

"Do you want to hang out sometime, Spike?"

"Yeah. I'd like that a lot! Hey, here's the last of the boxes. I should go back. Kengo and I are doing leg day in the morning."

"Ah, gotcha. Well, thanks for your help. Have a good night, Spike."

"You too, Buck."

"...There he goes. I wonder what he thought I meant when I said we should 'hang out'. Shit, what did I even mean?"

Next Chapter!