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..."
Spike awoke to the smell of strawberries, mixed with the soft undercurrent of perspiration. Conditioner mixed with body odor. Iggy's.
Spike smiled, adjusting himself to the warm, fit, body wrapped around him. It was early morning, judging by the light that came through the window, illuminating the various band posters on the wall. The androgynous, alien gods of the glam rock group, Vanity Paradise looked upon Spike serenely from their key position on the wall.
A kiss on the cheek woke him. Spike didn't need to look over. He groaned.
The voice that spoke back to him was groggy, horse, sweet, and commanding. "Enough dreams for you, sleepy one. Time to get up."
"Five more minutes," Spike mumbled to Iggy.
"Fine. But only five."
The tall, limber rock star carefully crawled over their guest. "Tell anybody what I look like in the morning and you're dead. Compreendo?"
Eyes still shut and smiling, Spike answered, "You mean, attractive?"
"Heh. Correct answer."
"Did the evil Iggy Astro just blush?"
"Shut up!!!!"
They hadn't done anything other than cuddle, which was somehow far more intimate. These sleepovers had become recurring encounters since Las Vegas. Both Kengo, Spike's housemate, and Victor, Iggy's boyfriend, had been away at night for the past two weeks. Neither Spike nor Iggy would admit to hating being alone. This arrangement was an implicit understanding between them.
The sound of an electrical kettle, and the ensuing, gentle bossa nova music, did away with Spike's hope for a few more minutes of sleep. He moaned.
"Ay," Iggy said. "Stop whining. I hate when boys moan without me causing it."
Spike was defeated. Groggy, he wiped his eyes and looked over at Iggy, dressed in their pink bathrobe and pink glasses, knees to chest on the chair (the most unwieldy sitting position Spike had ever seen) and sipping from a cup of tea.
"This is my morning routine," Iggy said. The tired rasp in their voice somehow made them more sexy. "Behold. Glory."
Spike smiled. "I love this music."
Iggy grinned in approval. "Most silly twinks like you complain it sounds like elevator music." They sighed. "That's usually the point in conversation when I snapmare them and walk away from their unconscious body to find something better to do..."
Even though Spike and Iggy (their new, self-appointed mentor) had gotten closer in the last few weeks, the Brooklyn boy hadn't quite figured out when their scary, sexy teacher was joking or not. "No, it's really chill! It reminds me of the beach. Or somewhere tropical. I really like it!"
Iggy sipped their tea, content. "You know, Sailorboy, you really aren't as dumb as you say you are. You are actually quite insightful."
Spike blinked. "Ah, well that's what you get from a lifetime of people calling you a himbo..."
"Oh no, your obliviousness and puppy-dog demeaner still qualifies you." They laughed. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about your brand. I'm just saying..." they shrugged, mid-sentence. "Maybe stop beating yourself up, is all. That's my job."
Cheek tinged red, Spike decided this was enough positive energy to catapult themselves out of bed. They were dressed in their blue briefs. They stretched and yawned.
Iggy looked over from their reading. "Mmm. That's not a bad sight to wake up to."
"Thanks," Spike said, scratching himself. It was hard not to get used to this. Iggy had already given him the 'talk' about not getting romantically attached, crushing that crush before it started. Though Spike was a bit dejected over it, he understood Iggy's heart belonged to another's. And even though Spike was the self-appointed 'Pinup Prince' of the GSA, with an enviable body, Victor (El Amante) was on a whole other level. No hope in competing with that.
Not yet anyways...
Spike's eyes fell upon Iggy's dresser. As one of the earlier recruits to the GSA, Iggyhad managed to snag themselves a single room. Or so they said. Spike theorized that Iggy was such a diva that they had either forced Colt to give them a single room or had terrorized their previous roommate out of existence.
A framed photo, sitting next to an autographed photo from Victor caught Spike's attention.
"Who...is Inácio Vara?"
Iggy sighed, forced to get off their perch. They picked up the photo and held it next to their face.
Spike looked between the photo, Iggy, back to the photo, then back to Iggy again. Then, Spike's eyes became saucer-like.
"Oh my Goddess!"
"Yeah..."
"YOU HAVE A SON!?"
The blast of stardust light crashed into Spike so hard that it sent him flying back into the bed. "GAHhhhhh!"
Iggy laughed, shaking the excess light glitter from their manicured hand. "No, kitten. It's ME!"
It was like Spike had been struck by Iggy's magick a second time. "WHAT! But you...look so innocent! And...brunette!"
"I know," Iggy said derisively, placing the photo back in its spot. "So studious. So...well behaved." They stuck their tongue out. "What, silly? Did you think this was my natural hair color?" They plucked a strand of their pink hair and tossed it over their shoulder.
"That's before I fell in love with rock and roll and spellbreaking," they continued. Spike suddenly realized this was the most serious, most 'non performative' he had ever seen his mentor (and former nemesis) "My parents were both professors. They sent me to private school. You don't escape a childhood like that without a few doses of trauma and at least one gender identity crisis." They sighed, briefly lost in the past, before coming back down to Earth again.
"These days I go by Ináci. But...just among friends and lovers." He gave Spike a hard look. "Got it? If I hear you call me it in public..." He smiled and made a slit motion across his neck. "KCH!"
"G-got it!" Spike said. He gulped. "I...don't mean to push my luck here, but what does your name mean?"
"Technically, 'fiery one'. Should have probably ended up as Fire glyph user, eh? But my parents wanted it to be more like the light that comes from fire." They rolled their eyes, flittering their hand away. "Some metaphor for the Enchanted Revolution in Brazil. I was born the day it all went down."
"Wow! Really? That's like...historic, right?"
"I guess." Iggy looked submissively askance (an extremely uncharacteristic gesture for them) before turning the conversation back onto Spike. "And what about you, kitten? Spike is...your porn name?"
"First of all, I never did porn," Spike said with a frown. "Er...not that I wouldn't mind. My real name is...Samuel. Blegh. I hate it."
"Hmmm. So interesting, isn't it? How we wear these chosen names for ourselves, not unlike Viki's mask." Iggy tossed their hair back and gave Spike a mischievous grin. "But I dunno, Sammy sounds kinda cute. It fits you."
"I don't want to be cute," Spike growled back, balling up his fist. "I want to be tough!"
Laughing, Iggy lunged forward and picked up Spike by the waist, slinging him right over their shoulder.
Spike, trying not to laugh, fake-hit them on their back. "N-no! How dare you!"
"Okay, tough boy. Let's toughen you up with some lessons." Iggy, incredibly strong and dexterous, managed to open up the door. "First, we're going to put you in some clothes. Then, I'm gonna' take you out to Dead Man's Gulch and teach you how to use your kinetic energy to create a barrier. Even if it means breaking you down and making you beg for death! HAHAHAAHAHA!"
Spike, still in his underwear, had no choice but to be carried off. "Ugh, I forgot, you're still a sadist...."
The canyon looked like something from a dark, old Wild West flick. Gnarled, dead trees lined the dry, cracked riverbed. Spike even thought he spied a buzzard or vulture perched on a twisted branch, eying them.
"I ain't dead yet!" Spike yelled at the bird, shaking his fist. It promptly flew off.
Iggy, dressed in a green crop top with the bold text, "This Is Your Dad's Shirt" walked alongside their mentee, their buff forearms tucked behind their neck in a leisurely position. "You might soon be, though, if this training goes well. They don't call it Dead's Man's Gulch for nothin', kitten."
Spike gulped. He could only imagine how spooky this place must look at night. He was pretty damn sure Kengo had mentioned something about it being haunted. And Spike wasn't going to argue with a man who could literally see and communicate with spirits...
"BOO!"
"AGH!" Spike jumped in the air, even as he realized Iggy had jumped up behind him.
"Jumpy, much? Hey, I should have probably mentioned there's a surprise element to your training."
The dread crept in. "What kind of 'surprise'? Like, surprise torture rack kind of surprise? LIKE LAST TIME?"
"Okay, that was ONE TIME. And it was for endurance training! And it was really hot hearing your squeal and beg for me..." Iggy bit his lip. "You suffer so prettily."
Spike and Iggy turned the corner of a large rock and came to a small, fenced off clearing. It looked like it had been specifically for training purposes. Spike could even see the outline of where a practice ring might have been. Colt had mentioned often using the outdoors for magickal training, as his powers tended to cause meteorological devastation...which was not something to play around with indoors.
But it was the person standing in the middle of the outline that grabbed Spike's attention. At first he thought he was seeing things. The man was a giant. A giant that he knew very well.
Dressed in a white t-shirt and coveralls, John Henry Iron (AKA Mr. Iron) smiled at his former pupil. "Been awhile, blondie."
"Mr. Iron!" Spike yelped, already dashing towards his old teacher. He jumped and fell into his arms.
And nearly tossed him to the ground. Spike hadn't realized his excitement had activated his powers. "WOAH!" John Henry laughed, using his tight (muscular) embrace to stabilize them both from falling over. "You got stronger, kid! You almost knocked me flat on my ass."
Spike let go, somewhat embarrassed. "Er. Yeah. Magick still getting the better of me at some point."
Mr. Iron looked up at the tall, pink-haired stud appraising the reunion. "I hear you're hanging out with the villains now, Spike. What did I tell ya?"
Iggy laughed. "Oh, Mr. Iron, you big, delicious, stud. Nothing wrong with taking a babyface on the wild side!"
"Iggy's actually a pretty good teacher!" Spike said.
"Blink twice, Spike, if they made you say that under threat of violence..."
"Ugh," Iggy spat, taking a seat on an old, disused barrel. "You babyfaces are so high and mighty. Can't a boy have fun with their pupil?"
Spike felt a surge of warmth in his heart. He'd missed his first spellbreaking teacher. But he was genuinely surprised to see him at the GSA. He was surprised Colt hadn't made an announcement.
"How's New York?" Spike asked, stretching his arms in anticipation of some serious training. "How's Varla and the others?"
Mr. Iron looked over at Iggy for a flicker of a moment. "Oh, you know. Off season. Varla is busy with Laura. She just started school. Sandra agreed to let me come down and teach for the next three or so months, provided I got back to Brooklyn at least once a month. Might be hard though, since I'll be coming along for the world tour for support."
That was a lot for Spike to take in. And something about it confused him, too, though he couldn't pinpoint just what. "Wait, so are you...competing?"
"Nah. I'm too old to compete! Just thought I'd lend a hand where I can. Do some auxiliary training. Plus, with Colt coming out of retirement, someone's gonna need to help Buck run things."
Spike believed it, at face value, but there was something unspoken that still didn't sit right with him. He remembered what Iggy had said earlier, about being more perceptive than others believed. The little glances Mr. Iron threw to Iggy. His sudden re-appearance. There was more to this.
Unfortunately, Spike still didn't have the exact smarts to tug on that thread further. He smiled, puppy-like. "I'm so glad you're back, Mr. Iron."
"You say that now, blondie, but get ready!" Mr. Iron rotated their giant arm. "Iggy and I aren't going to go easy on you.
Going pale, Spike turned over to see Iggy grin wickedly, before cracking his knuckles. The idea of being double teamed by these hunks sounded more fun in my head than in practice!
Sitting on the fallen trunk of a large, dead tree, the two men looked down into the valley at Spike, Iggy, and Mr. Iron. They were a safe distance away. No risk of those idiots noticing their presence.
The taller of the two young men, a pale, devilishly handsome punk with a mohawk, leaned in and smiled. “This the best Colt can do? Hah! These boys don't need to worry a tick about Firebird. It’s us they should be pissin’ their dacks over.”
The darker skinned boy next to him, with the beefy body of an athlete and the swagger to match, laughed affirmatively. “Totally, bro! But damn, that Spike’s a cutie, eh?”
The ghoulish punk licked his lips. “Fuckin’ oath! I can’t wait to make him beg for his life and bloody up that pretty face.”
“You can have the face," the enthusiastic jock said, "It’s other parts this big bad wolfie wants to sink his teeth into!”
"Hmp." The taller of the two spellbreakers spat on the ground, unconcerned if his partner found it rude or not. “Ah, the twink ain’t who I’m after though, mate. This is about revenge." He pounded his fist against his palm, hard enough that his companion flinched. "There’s a little white tiger kitty in need of getting declawed. I’m gonna take back what’s mine.”
The tall, malicious looking punk made a motion around his waist. "That belt looked too damn good around these abs. I think I'll make old mate Jojo get on his knees and kiss it while he'd bleedin' out over the canvas." The dark magi shivered with anticipation. And then...I'm gonna kiss him. He's gonna beg to be mine.
“Soooo hot, bro!“ the himbo jock drooled. "You can have White Tiger. I just want to play with the others. And you know me..." He flexed his muscles for his friend, then spotted a dusty, near-dead dandelion growing from the base of the trunk. He plucked it, without a second thought, and used his magick to freeze it solid before crushing it in his hands. "I love a little rough play."
“Heheheh. Down boy. Can’t reveal our hand yet." The tall one wrapped his arm around his friend's thick neck in a gesture of comradery. "Besides, you’re supposed to be the cool customer here. That Irish lad is the one you’re droolin’ over, yeah?”
The buff brute's shoulders stiffened and his dark, watery eyes went puppy-dog like. “You...you mean Cian!? The most handsomest, sexiest, beefiest stud (besides yours truly, that is) in the world? My future husband?”
The tall one suddenly let go, letting his mate succumb to reveries over his crush. “Er…whatever you say, mate. Look, let’s just hold back for awhile. You got your match with T. Rex comin' up, so maybe you can scout ahead and get a feel for the young bloods like Spike. Gauge their power."
The buff jock shook thoughts of beach-adjacent frolics with the Faeblood Brawler out of their hand, distracted instead by the promise of fresh meat. "Oh, I'd love get a feel on a few of them, eh?"
Always down for a root, this one. "We can strike when the time is right, Icy boy. These c****s won’t know what hit ‘em! The Prodigal Nightmares are about to return in a big way!
"The ice cold killa'..."
"And the demonic thrilla'!"
The two 'bad boys' fist bumped, creating a wave of cold frost and dark, shadowy particles in the collision.
"Hahahahah!" the punk cackled, before letting out a monstrous belch. "They’ll all be down on their knees, not for bloody long now…”
“Speaking of down on their knees…” the big one nudged his friend and gave him a wink.
The tall one sighed. “You’re a real pants man, ain’t ya Icy? Let’s go back to my shack. See if we can make the big alpha howl….”
“Awwrrrroooo! Fuck yeah, bro!”
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