The spellbreaker with the blue mohawk collapsed onto the canvas, struggling to breathe and get up, their broken spine already setting back into place thanks to the divine blessing of soma. The bell rang, signalling their defeat. It was a mercy.
"The winner...Vahni Rage!"
The tall, long-haired warrior of flames ripped his arm away from the intimidating ref. "Don't touch me, commoner," he spat, ordering the ref out of his arena. In the shadow of the ring, Semyon Grigorivich smiled.
The water magi struggled to get up. In the distance, medical magi and security stood at attention, waiting to intervene. Vahni Rage met their eyes. They shrunk back, leaving the lamb to the lion.
The water spellbreaker struggled to look up, into the eyes of their conqueror. "I...should...have been able to dose your flame."
Vahni raised an eyebrow. "But you didn't, did you?"
Rage answered this defiance with a kick to the head with his boot, turning the spellbreaker punk over and onto his back. He didn't stay down there long. Rage grabbed him by the mohawk, pulling him closer.
"Now you shall be branded," Rage said.
The audience gasped. Semyon eagerly leaned forward.
"No..." the water magi moaned. "Please. My career."
"What career?" Rage said, as he singed mark into his victim's forehead with his fingertip. The scent of burnt flesh filled the arena; the spellbreaker trying not to scream out as he was marked with a single "V" across his brow.
Rage yawned, dropping his now unconscious (and marked) opponent to the mat. "No challenge here," he sniffed, already on his way out.
Once upon a time, Vahni Rage relished the boo of the audience. The jeers. The disapproving looks. He looked over at a group of children, crying over their defeated hero. Even this did not satisfy him. His shoulders dropped.
Am I...getting bored of spellbreaking? After all, there was nowhere else for him to go, other than the world champion title. Yes, perhaps that would suffice.
In his private shower stall, the rain that hit Vahni Rage's naked, muscular, super-heated boy turned to steam.
He sighed, content, throwing back his jet-black main and leaning against the bricks. This was his moment of peace. There was no better feeling than a shower after a conquest. Well, perhaps sharing a shower with a conquest was better. But that water-manipulating loser, who dared think he could channel an opposing element against him, was too butt-ugly to even fondle. Vahni had very particular and specific tastes. He liked younger men, well built. Strong, with a touch of the feminine. Submissive, but bratty. Beautiful contradictions.
He also rather enjoyed beating them senseless. Either way, no such man had presented himself tonight. The only individual befitting that description, that Vahni could think of anyway, was Spike Waterford. He hadn't spoken it aloud to the others--not that Vahni got too chummy with his Firebird compatriots, anyway--but the little, blonde brat had been on his mind as of recent.
Especially at night.
Vahni grunted, upset at himself. To desire another was to give into weakness. He had thought enough Rubedo in his system would have corrected that flaw. Perhaps he was going through withdraws. That would make sense, as Rage's thoughts had instead turned back to his family and their wellbeing.
I wondered what foreign dishes mother has become obsessed with this month. Last time Vahni was home at the family estate, it had been French. Rage had ordered the family servants to get their hands on every 5-star French cook book they could find, and had even flown a famous French chef to give his mother cooking lessons. She had produced a remarkable soufflé by the end of it all. But that was mother. She set her mind something and did it.
I must get it from her, Vahni laughed to himself. Certainly not Father's side.
He wondered how his many brothers and sisters were keeping, as well. It really had been some time. Amit probably has his nose in a book. Deepak probably has a nose in a girl instead. I wonder if Lakshmi has released her new fashion line....
Vahni Rage suddenly looked up. The droplets on his skin evaporated into steam at once, with the instinctual activation of his glyph. "Hm!? Who dares--"
"Calm yourself, Rage. It is I."
Rage narrowed his eyes, and sighed. The President really did love coming in and watching him shower. "Yes, sir." Like an attack dog on a short leash, Rage sometimes resented the man who had offered him such power.
Up until now, however, Semyon had maintained a careful balance of demand and acquiescence. The tall ghoul stood outside the stall. "Well fought, Rage. A most impressive battle, as always. I wanted to let you know that Slayer I will be leaving for Ireland this weekend."
"That so? Shall I have my servants pack my bags, then."
"Your assistance is not needed at this time, Rage, though I am sure you would make short work of the spellbreakers lined up, anyway."
At one point in time, Rage would have accepted the flattery. Now, however, his recent ennui had alerted him to the gaps in Semyon's management style. "This is the third leg of the world tour, and yet you have not put me on the card yet. I am sure you have a strategy, Mr. President. You always do. But, you would certainly have heard it by now from my fans that it is...odd to be under-utilizing your champion in such a way."
"As always, my prized bull, your beloved president has only your best interests in mind. And, perhaps monetary gain. But that is secondary to your shining talent. Mark my words, you will be joining the journey in due time."
In addition to being a deadly brawler, however, Rage was a shrewd tactician as well. He swiftly put together that Semyon's gallivanting overseas meant that his presence back at Firebird HQ in Moscow had been diminished. Which also meant that the team's scheduled rubedo injections were more infrequent. Enough so, perhaps, that it had dulled Rage's blood lust.
Maybe this is why I am so damn bored, he thought absently. Yet, beneath it, something else bothered him. Maybe there was a secret benefit to these withdrawals. A clearer head.
"What happened to bringing aboard Camazotz Jr." Rage asked, waving for Semyon to hand him a towel. "I was under the assumption he was being fast tracked. Took me by surprise, especially with Serpent's...er...control, on his men."
"Ah, the good Serpent has his methods. I have mine. Unfortunately, Camazotz Jr. passed away. Heart failure. Magick can do many things, Rage, but it cannot stave off the angel of death."
"Huh, that's odd. Well, my condolences. I had hoped to face him in the ring. Slayer has also been absent as of usual. Seems he's been coming to your office with unusual frequency." Rage smiled. Dull his suspicions with a bit of humility. Throw him off the trail. "Even I do not wish to bother you that much, President."
"So many questions, Rage!" Smeyon said, handing Vahni a towel through the gap in the curtain.
As well as a syringe, full of slightly luminous, crimson red liquid.
"You are going through withdraws, Rage. Allow me to fix that."
"More Rubedo? Is that necessary?"
"Oh, Rage, my sweet boy! I am quite saddened to hear these tones of mistrust in your voice! You know I only have the best for you in mind. But, suit yourself. Of course, I cannot--in good consciences that is--put a spellbreaker out on the reserves if he's going through rubedo withdrawal. Even if that spellbreaker is the champion..."
The puddle beneath Rage's bare feet instantly boiled into steam. He couldn't stay his anger. Still, it was unwise to bite the hand that fed him. "Yes, sir," he said.
"I shall leave it to you then, Champion. Oh, but before I go...how is your family?"
"Fine," Rage said, curtly. "Thanks for asking." You never did ask before. "My mother seems to have an obsession with foreign cuisine. I am considering ordering the servants to help her start a business. I think she has the mind for it, and it will keep her active and happy in her age."
"Ah, a mother's son at heart. How...nice."
Rage grunted. He didn't like being perceived as 'soft'. "Funny, Sir. You never really ask about my family."
"The House of Ray are celebrated. To have a son of one of the Fire Priests among my ranks, especially with the blood of the embodiment of the flame himself, is a rare thing. Your family intrigues me. I hear, in fact, that a great many artefacts can be found at your family's temple. While I know many carry religious importance, I hope you would not mind me asking about the...hmm...secular objects of renown? Is perhaps, a goblet or chalice among them?"
Rage was silent for a time, before he spoke again. "The treasury and vaults of the temple are a private matter, and even I have little knowledge of the inventory. I am sorry, sir. However, perhaps when I am on the phone with my mother again..."
"Ah, it is no pressing matter." Rage heard footsteps, and a door open. "Enjoy your rest, Rage. I will have Sveta brief you on your next match."
The door shut.
When Rage was absolutely certain he was alone, he sniffed, cracked open the injection of rubedo, and poured it down the drain.
Perhaps it is the withdrawal talking, but I daresay that devil is starting to outlive his usefulness. He wants to know about the Chalice of Spirit? I'll need to have a word with Uncle. And I'll need to have Sveta book me a flight to Ireland. I think it is time that I made an...unannounced appearance.
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