The rain came down in great streaks, across the cobblestones and quaint houses reflected by the River Liffey, an unsteady mirror. At the middle of the bridge, a scrawny, read-headed young man in a soaked rain jacket, speared pieces of trash and placed them into a bag. He went about his labors in a methadone fugue. It was a shit day, but compared to others, it wasn't so bad. Easy enough work too. Connor O'Rourke liked the rainy days more, even if it meant less foot traffic for generous souls to toss him food money. People looked at him less. In the reflections of puddles, he looked less ghostly.
Connor failed to notice the sturdy, stocky man--two years older than him--watching him at the mouth of the bridge. With a forest green umbrella in hand, Cian played and replayed a thousand different scenarios in his head. It didn't help that tonight he would be fighting again. It also didn't help that he'd be fighting the one man he'd wanted to pound into the pavement since the moment he'd gotten to the GSA.
Stomach in knots, Cian had come to the conclusion that there would no satisfying end to the night. He knew his opponent. Spike was like poison candy, sugary sweet and rotten; a fake hero who craved attention and praise at every turn, and had a bad habit of making Cian feel...well, things he'd rather not confront. Things that made him feel weak.
Which meant Cian would have to smear him. And though the idea of bashing Spike's brains into the canvas, or squeezing his pretty head off his neck, once had a certain appeal, Cian's better judgment told him otherwise. He knew if he gave it all to defeat Spike--and he was afraid he would have to--then he might destroy him for good, like he had almost done to poor Usagi back in Vegas (last he heard, the injured victim of Cian's Blood Frenzy was still out on injury....maybe forever).
The alternative was no better. Cian couldn't refuse losing to that priss. Not here. Not on his 'home' turf. Not with people he knew watching; honored brutes such as Powell and his boys, the ones who had taught Cian both how to fight and not to trust anybody else. If he lost, it would just prove them right--that he was weak. Would prove Firebird right too. Cian couldn't abide that.
So, destroy Spike it was. Replacing him as the true rising hero of the GSA had its appeal, Cian thought.
Sighing, and heart beating through his chest, Cian approached his baby brother. "Hey, Connor. Long time no see, lad."
Connor grunted. Too much living too quickly, and years of chemical degradation, made him look a decade older than his spellbreaking, big brother. "Is that..."
"Yep." Cian sighed. He smiled, wanly. "Give your big brother a hug, you little shit."
Distorted reflection. Cian knew all about seeing double. He was his own tag team after all. His was the gift Connor was supposed to inherit. But that was the thing about magick. Especially magick from the 'Shining Ones', those who ruled these lands long ago, before returning to the barrows and the mounds and their private realms. Cian may have inherited faeblood, but it was a chaotic power, somewhere between curse and blessing.
After the general shock subsided, Connor did give his brother a clumsy, wet hug, nearly knocking the umbrella out of his hands in the process. Cian couldn't remember their last embrace. It was probably full of crying and swearing and shouting voices all around them...
Connor let go first. The guilt took over. "I was clean for awhile, you know. Really, I was!"
Cian scanned his eyes. It wasn't a total lie. "I believe you."
Hands in pockets of his rain poncho, Connor kicked a puddle, scattering water. "It's just been hard these days, is all. But..."
"It's okay," Cian said, donning a smile and putting a hand on his brother's shoulder. Truth time. Let it all out. Colt and Mr. Iron and El Amante would tell him that. Probably Spike too, loathe as Cian was to admit it. "I should have staid in Ireland. I know." Cian tried to suppress the cracks in his voice. "I...just wanted to be someone you could look up to."
It was when Connor laughed that Cian felt he'd just been absolved. "Bro, don't be daft.! Of course I look up to you." He shrugged. "None of what happened, none of what's going on with me...is your fault."
And you're trying your best, Cian thought. Going from sleeping in the gutter to cleaning it was still as step up, yeah?
"I should have been stronger for you," Cian admitted. "For the rest of us. Has Aoife or any of the others come 'round?"
"No." Connor looked away and speared a chip wrapper. "I'm not really in contact with the others..."
Of course. "Aye, aye..." Cian trailed off. Their siblings...it was painful subject.
Not wanting to ruin this reunion, Connor was the first to make for a silver lining. Just like always. "Hey, but I make this city beautiful now! How cool is that? But enough about me being awesome. I catch spellbreaking when I'm at the pub. The lads don't believe me when I point to the TV and say, 'that's my brother'. Hehe. I heard your opponent tonight is dating the former champ now?"
Leave it to Connor to go for mood improvement and fail at sticking the landing. "Ugh," Cian spat. "Not really. I dunno. It's...complicated."
Connor smirked. He was bold now. "I thought you might have eyes on your opponent instead, eh?"
"Connor!"
"What?" The youngest O'Rourke put his arm around his brother's thick neck, with affection. "Look, I may be in the gutter, but I'd stand by my brother no matter what. No matter who he was."
A staggering shape, with the gait of a drunkard, some yards away entered Cian's peripheral. His glyph queued him into malicious intent at once. By way of transference--or just good instinct--Connor picked up on it first. Cian's first thought was that it was Firebird.
Fortunately, it was just a haggard businessman, fresh off the pubs. Lost a bet on a horse race, likely. He spat in Connor and Cian's path. "Filthy Travellers!"
It was an insult, and only technically true. Cian and Connor weren't Travellers by birthright, but they had been reared and protected by those communities. It was a mark against generosity, Powell and the other boys ways of showing 'tough love' be damned.
Surprisingly, Connor was the first to step out, fist at the ready. "OY! Watch who you're talkin' to, piss-head!"
Cian had gotten to a point where he didn't need to say anything to get the point across. He stepped out from behind his lanky brother, making his large frame known. He used a bit of magick to make his eyes glow green and menacing.
The drunkard stepped back, more confused than afraid.
Connor wasn't about to let this injury slide. "Look here, eh? My brother breaks necks for fun and I promise you I'm still crazier and scarier than him!"
"Fine, fine," the drunkard whinnied, sneaking off to the shadows. He mumbled something rude under his breath, but challenged them no more.
Cian was heated. Connor was stoked. He turned, excitedly, to his older brother. "Hey! If you weren't your own tag partner, I'd definitely kick ass with ye! Er...if I had magick, that is."
Aggression boiled in Cian's soul. He stared at the space left by the rude stranger. Every man like him, who had ever insulted Cian or called his worth into question, would pay tonight. Spike Waterford would be the sacrifice to sate this war god that demanded blood. Cian's name would be purified at last.
"I'm going to waste Spike Waterford," Cian spat. "It's a long time comin'"
Connor saw the wrath in his brother's eyes. It wasn't the first time. He let Cian's words sink in, before he reached out with tenderness. "You don't have anything to prove, big lad! Not to Powell or those Firebird freaks."
"Hmph. I'm going to show him what I've become." Breaking from the dark, Cian remembered his company. It wasn't right to sulk. He recached into his pocket and handed his brother what he'd come here to give him. "You'll be there, eh?"
It was a ticket. Admit one for the spellbreaking match tonight. Connor took it with great honor.
Small talk and a few exchanged reminiscence filled the remainder of their time together. Eventually, the rain subsided, but the gray skies overhead remained.
"Well," Connor said, leaning his pick against the wall. "Anyways, thanks for the ticket. Hey..er...not to be a bother but...um...I'm kind of low on cash for for food and..."
Cian had suspected he'd hear this old song again. It was fine. Without judgment, Cian reached into his pocket and withdrew a few notes. "Yeah....food. Sure. Here. That should do ya. And don't you dare sell that ticket."
Connor rolled his eyes, even though his brother did have a point. "Aw, c'mon, lad! I'd never." He smiled. One last hug. "Thanks, Cian. Kick arse tonight, eh?"
"Mr. Waterford?"
Spike, stretching his hamstrings (causing all of the staff and other spellbreakers behind him backstage to gawk at his large posterior) looked up at the friendly attendance. "You mean...me?"
"Are you not Samuel Waterford?"
Spike blushed. "Er...just call me Spike. That thing for me?"
The young attendant handed Spike the small note card, bowed, and left the staging area.
"Hmmm." Spike flipped the card over. It was solid white, without detail. In beautiful calligraphy, was but one sentence: Watch his shadows.
"Huh?" Spike cocked his head to the side, like a perplexed golden retriever. "What the hell does that mean?" He shrugged, tossing the card over his shoulder. "Whatever. I gotta' go kick Cian's ass."
The electricity inside the Dublin arena the air was palpable. Colt, earlier in the evening, had bested the splendid, red-headed warrior beauty Queen Mab. Impressed with his power and charm, she had then invited both Colt and Joseph (White Tiger) to her private booth, where her attendants waited on him. The other members of the GSA currently on tour, made sure to reserve front row seats, though they were evenly divided in which fighter to support. Cian and Spike were their peers, and in some cases, their mentees. Their minor rivalry was well known. Iggy Astro, who hadn't fought since their accident, agreed that, whatever the outcome, this match would hopefully get it out of their system. Their lover, Victor/El Amante Intoxico, expressed concern that it might only fan the flames of war further. Kengo and Gio, 'The Titan', were more interested in supporting the man they were closest with--Kengo for Spike (his roommate) and Gio for Cian (his mentee). Icewolf and Deadboy, for their recent 'misdeeds', had been effectively grounded for this leg of the tour, and ordered to do rigorous training and chores back at the GSA Ranch, under Mr. Iron's strict supervision. In his absence, recently acquired ally--the handsome Dr. Tiago Reyes, with his dual-personality--had lent his support as field researcher, and to keep an eye on Firebird's misdeeds.
Speaking of which...
Joseph Haw, reigning Champion of the GSA, held the stem of his wine glass and looked out into the audience. Being the mightiest of heroes, for whom evil was his 'tiger's prey', he smelled out Vahni Rage--Firebird's heel champ--a mile away. He sat in his own private box, directly across from them. Strangely, he paid his rivals no mind. Stranger still, Firebird's president, Grigorivich, was not in his company. On the contrary, that ghoul had taken up with 'Welsh Wyvern' Slayer St. George, in a box a few booths away. Joseph raised a dark eyebrow at the unusual arrangement, but knew better than to read too much into it until more information came to light. Such presumptions had failed other heroes before, and even clouded their judgment. His own father, for instance...
Joseph shook his head. Enough of the past. Perhaps Deadboy's recent antics had stirred up an unfortunate reminiscence. Joseph looked to Colt, to see if he was alert, but the Cowboy King--wearing his finest button-up and bolo tie--was currently clinking wine glasses with the flame-headed Amazon he had fought with an hour earlier. The energy between their eyes, and their gentle laughs, suggest to Joseph that Colt was in no mood to talk conspiracy. All for the best, Joseph thought, smiling. Mab was every bit the Queen she proclaimed to be, and though she plainly sought control over this social situation, Joseph couldn't detect a drop of true malevolence in her. Though, he did pick up on a foreign spiritual energy...
As if answering his thoughts (and could she hear them, perhaps?) the muscular woman suddenly switched topics with Colt. "That Cian Enbarr is quite the upstart. A Faeblood, like yours truly. Have his powers manifested?"
Colt winced. "You could say that."
Mab's instincts were uncanny. She frowned. "He's having trouble controlling the Blood Frenzy, aye? Oh don't look at me like that, cowboy--I do my research. He's a descendent of the Hound of Cullen, a great Celtic warrior, though many scions there are from that lineage. The national hero of the Celts was said to go into his Blood Frenzy, and woe unto any warrior who challenged him in this state. That being said, he had a teacher," she smiled, knowingly, "a woman, who taught him how to channel this power."
Colt nodded, and took a longer sip of wine. He threw a glance to Joseph. "We've tried to do our best, but Cian is...a hard nut to crack. Talking to him sometimes is like pulling teeth."
The Queen was sympathetic. "Aye, it's plain to see. He's a wounded lad. A heavy armor rests on his heart. Some deeper shame, perhaps, is responsible for him not being able to control the Frenzy."
Colt suspected he knew the answer. "You know most of my boys are...different. It's not an issue for them, usually."
Now, Joseph felt compelled to speak. "Boss, keep in mind that all our journeys are unique. Some of us had easier times than others. You know my story. Even my own mother took time to accept me. Some men, like Spike, without family, only needed to worry about society's barbs and arrows. Others, like Gio, must fight two separate battles. Not all of us have the same gifts, our shields, in which we can show strength. I believe Cian's issue is that he still associates his sexuality with a perceived weakness, probably because of the cruelties visited upon him during his youth. I imagine if we were to uncouple that way of thinking, then the healing could truly begin and he could gain a better hold on his powers."
Colt and Mab stared at Joseph blankly.
He smiled. "Oh, sorry. Did I do that uncanny thing I do where I hit the nail on the head?" He poured himself another glass of wine.
Colt growled softly. "More of an exposition dump, but we'll take it. Still, I worry. Spike seems to get under Cian's skin. If Cian does what he did back in Vegas, then..."
Joseph eyed the arena. Any drop to the ground below would kill the average man. But Joseph was far from average. "If I need to interfere, it may cost the match, but I will ensure both Spike and Cian are unharmed." He shrugged. "Or...relatively unharmed. You know a tiger can't entirely control his bite."
Colt smiled. "Oooh! Now there's one doggone spicy idea! Could make for some good ratings."
Queen Mab sighed. "Oh, Colton."
The lights dimmed. The crowd erupted into a thunderous roar. There were no gimmicks, no gaudy entrances, or grandstanding when Spike and Cian entered the arena. Boomer Harlow announced them both. Stone faced (even Spike) the two combatants allowed the ref to check them for weaponry. All the aisle, Cian and Spike locked eyes and stared each other down.
It was only Colt, of all observers, who saw the hidden language between these looks. More emotions danced across his young students faces than pure spite. This was a complicated confrontation. As long as both men walked out of this ring with their limbs intact, it would be a success. It would also prove to him, and by extent, the GSA, which of the young Silver Stars was bound to be a future contender for Champion. He already knew it wouldn't be Kengo, whose destiny lay back with his original fed (even if he himself didn't know it yet). Colt knew, as he knew bad weather, that one of these two young lions would one day become a superstar.
Boomer Harlow, and the crowd, took note of Spike's change in combat wear. Gone was his tight, sailor stripe speedo, replaced instead with a flattering, royal blue butchers singlet with a white anchor stitched over the crotch. It was almost a mirror to Cian's standard attire. That Spike would choose something so symbolic...it made the audience think twice about their himbo, pinup prince. Colt and Joseph, both who had worked the scene for years, knew it was a deliberate choice.
It seemed Spike wasn't so empty headed after all. Tonight, anyways, there was a seriousness about him. No playfulness there in those cold blue eyes. It even put Colt, of all people, on edge.
Spike sniffed. "Cian."
"Spike." Crossing his arms across his beefy chest, Cian eyed his rival up and down. "Nice singlet, boyo. Imitation is flattery, eh?"
Scratching his head, but not taking his eyes off his target, Spike demured. "Yeah, that was kind of the point."
"What?" Cian blinked. "Whatever."
The ref stared at both of them. The audience held their breath. Even Boomer Harlow paused his mile-a-minute commentary, to breathe. It was only seconds from the bell...
"Whatever happens tonight..." Spike began. "I want this to settle things between us."
Cian flinched. His eyes narrowed. "Oh, it will." He took a step forward, inches away from Spike's face. "I'm going to settle you good."
Spike's first thought, of course, was that Cian was going to kiss him. "That's not what..." he sighed, pushing Cian away. The crowed 'oohed' "Fine. Have it your way, meathead."
The bell rang.
Cian and Spike wasted no time with the lockup, but right from the jump, it was clear this match wasn't going to follow the normal ebb and flow of traditional Spellbreaking. Instead of strikes or chain wrestling, Spike and Cian settled into a more 'collegiate' stance. Cian went for a single leg, and Spike went for his back, tightening his arms around Cian and pulling him down to the math with them. The audience, perplexed, was into it!
Joseph certainly was, anyway. "This is more of a Greco-Roman freestyle match," he said to his hosts.
Colt growled. "People didn't come here for none of this collegiate crap," he spat.
"I am afraid it is not about that, Boss," Joseph said, respectfully, catching Queen Mab;s knowing eyes. "This is a long time coming. Spike and Cian's energies are melding. Fusing. They are dancing the dance they know. It may not be spellbreaking's usual style, but does that no make it all the more unique?"
Colt thought long and hard. "You're a smart one, kid."
Joseph smiled. "That's why I'm champion."
Spike and Cian's limbs entangled with each other, unravelled in counters and holds, like a graceful dance. The ref, confused, went down to the mat, trying to keep track of this melding of bodies.
"You trying the Greco-Roman thing now, boyo?" Cian grunted, catching Spike's back for the first time. "Thought you just liked posing with your ass out."
Spike struggled against the lock. "Goddess, you're suck a dick." He rolled forward, and Cian went with it, with Spike grabbing him and pulling him into a splade split. "Give? Or do you want to show off that nice bulge of yours to the audience?"
A compliment and and an insult with a homoerotic edge. That was so like that punk, Spike. Cian grit his teeth. "Not on your life, lad." Like Hercules pulling the pillars apart, Cian's enormous legs yanked themselves free of Spike hold. He flipped over Spike--earning himself a huge pop--and caught Spike's torso around his legs, compressing the prettyboy. "Same question."
If anything, Spike was more than happy to be caught up in Cian's muscular thighs. "In your dreams, kid!" He smiled, picking up on the techniques and strategies the devious Iggy Astro had taught him. "Notice you aren't going for strikes."
"Yeah, because I know your damn power." Cian laughed. A moment of levity and honesty between them. Then, he went dark and serious again. "Do you know mine?"
"Flying off the handle and ripping your opponent's face off? Yeah. Kinda. That's why I'm being gentle with you." Spike breathed. Though Cian had wisely chosen not to use impacts and blows against Spike, thereby giving his glyph the 'inertia' it needed to enhance Spike's power, the Sailorboy was able to channel the force and compression from Cian's body scissor, into his force magick.
Like a diminutive demi-god, Spike plunged his hands between Cian's legs and forced them apart, this time winning him a reaction from the crowd. He then reached up behind him, grabbed Cian behind his thick neck, and snapped him forward, forcing him into a painful roll. "That was gentle," Spike, sneered getting to his feet.
They were both winded now. Cian, hands on knees, breathing heavily, eyes locked with Spike. Sweat dripped from Spike's matted hair, and off his chest. The crowd as on the edge of their seat. Somewhere, in his private balcony, Vahni Rage scratched his beard and smiled, intrigued.
"Fuck," Cian said, spitting onto the canvas. "You prettyboy. Always trying to get people to love you." He began to circle his opponent, in a grappling stance.
Spike joined in the dance. "Cian, I don't fuckin' try anything." He felt like he was back in high school now, doing this shit. But both him and his opponent could not see that, beneath their struggle, a different wrestling match (of sorts) was unfolding. "Cian, I'm a fuckin' putz! All I have is my looks. I got into Spellbreaking because it was my dream. I'm not here to make enemies or rivals or whatever. I'm just a goofball with a great ass!"
They went for the lockup. Hands on biceps and necks.
Spike grimaced. "You're...being...so...dramatic."
"Well, it must be nice, being so confident." And then, Cian spat in Spike's face, distracting him.
A knee to the gut knocked the wind out of Spike. He couldn't even hear the red admonish him.
"You...heel..." Spike gasped, absorbing the blow and converting it into power. "That's one of your problems, ain't it? You don't know whether you want to be a hero or a villain. I know where I stand. You don't even know yourself, you thick, sexy, bitch!" Spike ducked forward and headbutted Cian's right in the chest, knocking him back a few steps.
Triggered by the insult (which cut deep) Cian roared and tackled Spike to the mat. Spike rode with the moment, tumbling backwards into the ropes, springing to his feet and leap frogging over Cian as he went to capture Spike. "You try too damn hard to get everyone to like you!"
"Yeah, and you make it effortless!" Spike said, as he kicked Cian in the back of the head. Adding insult to injury, he Irish-whipped the Irish man into the ropes. "Everyone thinks you're so damn tough and cool, but your skull must be too damn thick to see it. And look who that's coming from! All I ever wanted was for you to respect me like I respect you."
Cian stabilized himself before Spike could lob another assault. "Oh, fat feckin' chance of--" He stopped, mid sentence. "What? You...what?"
"Yeah, idiot. I thought you were cool from day one. And hot. But I understand what you're going through. It's hard." Spike manoeuvred himself and Cian into an octopus stretch, putting the Faeblood brawler into knots, in a intimate tangle. He had him now. Now way to get out of this! "Give?"
"Fuck you," Ciang grunted, bracing against the pain. "You don't know shit about me, Spike."
"Yeah, because you don't let anybody get to know you!" I can't believe I'm having a heart-to-heart while putting this guy in a stretch. "You're so damn strong! Everyone loves you, so why can't you see it? We just want to be there for ya, bud. Buck told me something El Amante said. I'm not smart, so I don't get it. But he said...asking for help isn't tapping out, it's tagging someone in."
Which is exactly what Cian needed right now. He breathed carefully. Roughing around with Gio and having tendons pulled every which way had made him limber. He could tough it. Besides, he had picked up on Spike's techniques. His strength peaked and waned. If he could just endure the hold long enough...
He broke it. The audience gasped. Spike, stumbled, falling back into the ropes. He heaved. Out of breath.
"Stop calling yourself an idiot, idiot!" Cian said, wiping sweat from his face. He could see both of them were soaked with it. "We know it's your brand, but the more you believe in it, the more it's going to trip you up." Cian swung at Spike, and as expected, the Sailor dodged.
That was the point. With his other hand, Cian grabbed him beneath the armpit and pulled him off his feet, catching him around the midsection, and suplexing him backwards into the mat. He went for the rollup. It looked like it might be it.
But Spike was empowered by the blow, and kicked out. Switching gears, Cian got to his feet first and knotted Spike into an Indian deathlock, turning his legs into Pretzels. "You give, bitch!?"
The pain shot and stabbed at Spike's legs, but his grimace turned into a grin. He bit his lip. "Ha! Never. This feels good. You forgot, I'm a masomchist, or whatever that shit's called." He yawned, letting Cian strain against him, while Spike's magick converted pain into pleasure, tension into energy. "So that's it, huh?" Spike dragged his index finger around the canvas, in a bored, fidgety way. "You're insecure. Why? Just because you think dudes are cute? Join the fuckin' club, guy! We literally touch men all the time. Being gay or bi or queer or pan doesn't mean being weak. Look at most of us!" He yawned. "Nice deathlock by the way! Oh...were you trying to get me to tap out?"
Cian dropped Spike's legs. The ref looked at him, wondering why he was frozen, trembling. Spike turned over, confused as well.
"You..." Cian said, very soft. Then, he raised his head, revealing his blood-colored glowing eyes. "I'LL KILL YOU."
In the stand, Joseph, Colt, and Queen Mab leaned in. "This is it?" Queen Mab confirmed. Colt nodded. Joseph placed his hands on the railing, just in case he needed to spring into action.
But Spike was ready. He had anticipated this might happen. Doing his best to conserve his energy, Spike stood, stared death right in the face, and motioned for him to come and get it.
Blood Frenzied Cian was hungry to do so. He caught Spike in a painful bearhug. Even the ref looked horrified at the brutal grab.
"And there he goes again," Spike chocked out, bucking his head back, straining against the pressure. "You...want to break me, kid? Break me. Hurt me. Make me scream. I can take the pain, and dish it back even harder!"
Cian was beyond the point of sanity. "GAHHH. I WANT YOU TO SUFFER."
"Baby, I've suffered enough for one life." Drenched with sweat, and spine buckling under pressure, Spike forced a smile. "I'm just a boy-next-door with a lot of love in his heart, and a sunshine smile."
Then, Spike did something that the world of spellbreaking hadn't seen in awhile. Summoning all of his energy reserves to combat Cian's Blood Frenzies, berserk power, Spike reached down and reversed the bearhug, squeezing Cian tightly and lifting him up off his feet.
"Oh, and by the way, I'm strong as hell! Thanks for all the pressure, dingus. Now who's the himbo?"
Cian howled, in pain and frustration.
"I WILL BREAK YOUR BACK, CIAN!" Spike roared, with a fury nobody had seen from him before. "Do you fuckin' give, or do I end your career RIGHT HERE AND NOW?"
The storm between the boys finally broke. Instead of giving, Cian roared, muscles ruddy, raw, and bulging, and broke free of Spike's hold. He reached up and cracked his own neck both ways, and then charged at Spike like an enraged bull.
But Spike was ready. I swear to Goddess, I don't want to kill him, but I'll do what I hafta!
"YOU WANNA KNUCKLE SANDWICH? HAVE ONE. BROOKLYN STYLE!"
BOOM!
Spike's super charged heart punch collided with Cian's chest. The damaged was unknown, from the outside observer, but the spray of saliva from Cian's mouth suggested it was brutal.
Spike shook out his fist. "They don't call me heartbreaker for nothing, kid."
Cian fell against the ropes, and the ref went to his side to check up on him. The red light faded from his eyes. Yet still, Cian stood, dazed, but undefeated.
The crowd couldn't believe it. The alternated between stadium chants of "HO-LY-SHI-IT" and "THIS-IS-AWESOME", punctuated by rhythmic claps.
Cian, who looked like he had just zapped back down to Earth, looked down at his hands. "How...?"
Meanwhile, Spike stood, wreathed in an aura of orange and cool-blue fire. He shined, like a god. "This...tingles..." he said, rather ineloquently.
Colt nearly fell out of his char. "Call me a jack rabbit in a tuxedo, the kid knocked the Blood Frenzy out of him!"
"Why on Earth would I call you that?" Joseph asked, earnest. "And no, Mr. Tamberly. He absorbed it. Spike's powers are growing." The White Tiger smiled knowingly to himself. Looks like I'm not the only babyface hero around here anymore.
"What did you do?" Cian spat, returning to the fight.
Shit, he doesn't give up! "If I told you I had no clue..." Spike shook his head. "Er...I mean yeah! I totally meant to do that."
Cian twisted his lips. He was, unfortunately, impressed. But this match wasn't over. Both of them stood stand, though on the inside, both felt like they might faint, throw up, piss themselves, or any combination of the three at once. Magick could only sustain a body so long, and there was only minutes til the soma they ingested started to ware off. At that point, it could come down to a draw...
And Cian Enbarr, the Faeblood Brawler, didn't believe in draws. "You think I'd give up that easily?" he said with a cutting sneer. "You want to see the real me, Spike?"
Cian glowed an emerald green, his body blurring. The phantom after-images became whole, duplicates of Cian stepping out of his central self. And not just one either. Seven Cians in total, illusory doubles now stared down Spike. One stretched out his neck, spoiling for a fight. Another cracked his knuckles. The last one, a little bit slower than his companions, stuck his finger in his ears and twisted it.
The other Cians looked at him. "Er...don't mind him. He's a little...unique." They stepped forward, encircling Spike. "Which is the real one, boyo? Prepare to face...an army...of me!"
Suddenly, just as Spike was at a loss, time seemed to blur. He blinked, eyes drawn to the tall, shining figure at ringside. That canine mask. The long, gilded cloak, obscuring a massive build.
The hulking mystery placed his hand to where his mouth would be. Lol. Okay, Bjork.
"What, who said that?" Spike shook his head. "Is that you? The Gold mask? Are you the one whose voice has been in my head?" Vegas. His own apartment. Yes, he remembered now. He had heard these echoes before. This was too much to take in, mid match or otherwise.
The masked figure raised its head. Not the way you think, and not yet. Pay attention, Spike.
Spike's mind reeled. Around him, in slow motion, the seven Cians charged a him, ready to give him a beat down. Spike didn't know which one to tackle. It hardly mattered. Cian's mental projections could make an opponent think they were being struck by his doubles. There was no way to tell which one was the real Cian.
Or...was there?
"Shadows..." Spike suddenly remembered. "Shadows." He looked over to the man in the Gold Mask. "You gave me that card, huh?"
Heh. Wrong again. Good luck, Spike. Or...good luck Cian. It will be interesting to see which one of you wins.
Time returned to normal. Spike was seconds away from being dog piled and dismantled--and Heaven knows Cian wanted to rip him to pieces now! At the last second, Spike looked down, his eyes picking up on what wasn't there. All of the Cians were perfect copies, save for one detail. They cast no shadow.
Except, of course, for the one that did.
At the last second, Spike ducked and went for a double leg takedown. He surprised himself when his hands collided with skin. Cian, just as shocked, had no defence. Spike took him down to the canvas with a rough slam.
The six other Cians instantly vaporized.
The real Cian was more surprised than annoyed.
"How did you?"
"I'm not just a pretty face," Spike wheezed, ready to pass out. This was it. He acted quick. "Time for you to get tied up in the Sailor's Knot!"
"NOT ON YOUR LIFE!" Cian shouted, bending back and kicking into Spike's chest with his boots, knocking him off and away.
The two men stood on their feet, at opposites of the ring. It was a Western showdown. Both fighters knew they had just enough stamina in them to win this bout. Everyone in the audience hung onto the moment with stilted breath. Joseph, Colt, Queen Mab nearly hung from the side of their balcony railing. The various members of the GSA roster bit their teeth, or held each other. Even Vahni Rage leaned forward, excited--for the first time in a very long time--for a match that wasn't his own. An excitement that turned quickly to suspicion. After all, it had been a week or more since he had stopped injecting rubedo. What other emotions had it been suppressing, he wondered. Thank goodness the sadism is still there...
Spike and Cian charged, using their respective ropes to bolster momentum. Inches away from the other, they jumped into the air, ready to clothesline the other man's handsome head off their shoulders.
"HAAAAAAGHHG!"
*CRASH*
It was almost beautiful in its synchronization. Spike and Cian collided with each other, their bodies both rag dolling at their collision. Unstoppable forces. Immovable objects. Either spellbreaker blacked out, momentarily, before they hit the canvas together, side by side.
Their soma spent. Their stamina sapped. All either bruised, nearly broken boy could do was stare up at the lights, eyes fluttering. And breathe.
Alive. Never more alive.
The audience erupted into confused and frenzied shouting. Boomer Harlow, rarely at a loss for words, stammered. "FOLKS, I CANNOT DESCRIBE WHAT I HAVE JUST SEEN. Cian and Spike have both given it their all. We're waiting for the pin now, people. Folks at home, I cannot begin to DESCRIBE the energy in this room right now. These two Silver Stars have come a hell of a long way. We've been following their trajectory for awhile, and a lot of spectators thought that this night would prove which one of them might follow in the footsteps of White Tiger or Vahni Rage. Neither boy is moving, though, and we WILL need a pin before the ten count..."
"Get up!" "GET UP!" "COME ON!"
It was a whole chorus. Not one audience member remained seated. The GSA foamed at the mouth, cheering their team one. Colt and White Tightening, however, were still as stone, eyes glassy. The veins pulsed on Colt's hands, tightening around the railing.
The ref, on the verge of a heat attack himself, "One....two...three...four..."
"Hot damn!" Colt finally said, heart pounding inside his chest. "Come on, boys. Just one hand on the other. Don't even have to be a full pin...."
The ref continued. "Five...six...seven..."
Spike was fighting a secondary match against unconsciousness. He managed to turn his head to the side, to face Cian. Weakly, he formed the words. "I...just wanted you to respect me."
He extended his hand out. If he could just get it onto his chest...the victory would be his. He would emerge as the hero he was meant to be.
Cian swallowed blood. Coughed. He forced himself to look at Spike, ignoring the pain in his neck. "I...just wanted you to like me."
He extended his hand out. If he could just get it onto his chest...he would know he was strong enough. He'd prove himself to Powell. His brother. Vahni Rage. Firebird. The GSA. He would emerge as a warrior without fear or shame.
Spike spat out a trickle of blood. "Cian, I do like you, you handsome bastard. You're...awesome." He smiled, weakly. "Let me be in your corner, bud."
"Eight...nine...."
Cian stared at him awhile, tears welling up inside his eyes. Something changed, in that moment, if only slightly. The cog turned an inch. "I..." he started, ready to erect another wall. No. He was strong now. No need for walls. He smiled. "Okay..."
Their hands met, index fingers brushing up, but not on top of each other. No pin.
"TEN!" The red shouted, calling the match. "That's a draw!"
Ding.
Up in the balcony, drowned out by all Hell breaking loose from the crowd below, Colt felt himself go numb. "Hooooly shit," he said, Queen Mab stabilizing him so he wouldn't pass out. "Er...sorry for cussing, ma'am."
Joseph looked down at the ring, surveying the medical team running onto the canvas, the ref, and Cian and Spike themselves, laying with their hands stretched out to the other. After a time, Joseph leaned back. "An interesting turn out from our Silver Stars, Boss. Wouldn't you s--" he stopped, looking dead ahead.
Vahni Rage had vacated his box.
The Champion of the GSA growled. "Tsh. Where has that scoundral gone off to, I wonder."
"That was quite the match, my lion."
Bandaged in several areas (Spike thought it made him look sexier, somehow) Spike looked up from his chair backstage. The voice called from the corridor, to his left. Framed in the door, leaning against it in his thousand dollar suit, Vahni Rage stared at him with a sinister--but enticing--smile.
He yawned. "Pity there was no clear winner."
Spike didn't have time for him. The adrenaline was still rushing around inside. "Ugh, you."
"That's no way to greet your favorite nemesis." He smiled. "Is it, my young lion?"
"Don't you 'young lion' me!" Spike said. It was the first time, however, he had seen Rage ever smile. It was...oddly soft. Attractive. Feeling much the butterfly entering the web of a spider, walked closer to his arch nemesis. Forget Cian. This man was where the real glory lay. Cian was just the middle-of-the road challenge. Rag was the final battle. Spike knew it in his soul.
"I think you should come up with an affectionate name for me, in return," Rage said, haughtily. "'Master' has a nice ring to it, no?"
Even though he was dead tired (and nearly dead) Spike was ready to scrap. He spoke with his teeth tightly clenched, and his fists as well. "I'll fight you right here, you piece of--" he gulped. His eyes met Rage's saw the fire in there. "You--"
The two men stopped, looked at each other up and down. Spike knew there was nobody behind him now. The staff were busy. Spike had wanted some time to himself. Normally, being stuck in a dark room with only the scariest spellbreaker in the circuit would have terrified Spike.
Now, it enticed him.
The electricity between them reached its breaking point, and before Spike (or Rage, for that matter) knew what was happening, they were in each other's arms, making out passionately.
Rage threw Spike against the wall, going for his neck, licking it, nibbling it, eating him alive. Spike's eyes rolled into the back of his head.
"I think I will keep you in a golden cage," Rage said, hungrily tasting his prey. "A beautiful beast like you will need suitable accommodations. I will break down your mind and build up your body. I will find weaker, pretty boys for you to feast on, and take pleasure as you--former hero--dismantle them anyway I want. Deadboy thinks he can make you a monster. I will make you a divine beast, that a god such as myself will command and collar. You will obey me. You will be mine, Spike."
Rage's cologne was musky and warm. His touch was, as expected, hot. But the pleasure he gave Spike was immense. Maybe it was the thrill of the fight, or just plain bad choices, but Spike had never felt greater heat from another man before.
And this was just from kissing!
Spike suddenly remembered where he was. Who he was. He shoved Rage into the adjacent wall. Instead of being insulted, or agitated, Rage's mouth dropped open, excited. "Oh yeah?" he said.
He was on Spike in an instance, this time pinning his hands to the concrete, forcing his mouth onto his. And grinding, too. The two men clawed and struggled at each other. Male lions in heat, intermingling aggression and desire.
Spike used his hips to push Rage off him again. "Goddess, I want you," he said.
"I want to rip you apart."
"Do it." Spike challenged. He spit in Rage's face. "I'll come back stronger and kick your ass."
With a mix of fury and passion, Rage clawed Spike's jaw apart. "You think you can do that to me?" He said, as he spit directly into Spike's mouth. He shoved his jaw shut. "Swallow it. Now."
Glaring at him, Spike gladly did so. And smiled.
"Mmmm." Rage leaned back, wiping off his shoulders and adjusting his ruffled suit. He appraised his rival. "The fire in you is real, young lion. But...enough heat. Did you appreciate the love note I sent you?"
Spike's mind was reeling from so many things, that it was only pride of not looking loike a complete idiot in front of Rage that forced him to recognize the card that had been presented to him at the start of the match. "That hint was you?" And not the Gold Mask?
Rage shrugged. "I destroyed Cian before. So unfortunate you couldn't do the same. I had hopes for you, my beautiful rival." The snark, the attitude, returned. "Anyways, seems like Firebird and the GSA are well opposed. These...Chalices. What do you know about them, my beautiful nemesis?"
Now, Spike recognized the danger he was in. He crossed his arms and held his ground, however. "As if your gross boss wouldn't have you out looking for them!"
"Oh, I have no intention of showing you my hand. I was merely curious to see where your knowledge lay." Apparently satisfied with this conversation, Rage turned and began walking away.
Spike, despite himself, reached out and nearly opened his mouth. What am I doing? he thought.
"Glastonbury Tor."
Spike blinked. "What?"
At the stadium exit, Rage repeated himself. "Narrowed the whereabouts of the Chalice of Compassion to the former Alban Empire, haven't you? Of course you have. You have Reyes and Suarez on your side. Thorns in Firebird's paw, but brilliant ones, to be sure."
He turned and smiled at Spike again. "I have no...need for compassion. But I am telling you, so listen well, my gorgeous beast. Glastonbury Tor. You'll need someone with Faeblood. Take Enbarr. He has...proven himself more useful than I'd thought."
With that, Rage snapped his fingers. A wall of flame, intense and bright, jetted up from the ground nearly blinding Spike and making him fall backwards.
Someone caught him. Spike caught a whiff of cheap deodorant, fresh soap, and sweet musk. He had been smelling it all night. In fact, it had been on him when Rage had man-handled him against the wall.
Cian.
Spike turned. Cian had showered, his hair matted to his head. He looked, somehow, like a completely different person.
But it was the same Cian.
He acted like he hadn't just tried to kill Spike (and viseversa) an hour ago, "You...alright, boyo?" He smiled cheerfully. "Or did I hit you too hard?"
"Yeah," Spike said, confused, bewildered, looking at the ground. "I think...Vahni Rage just tried to help us?"
Cian looked into Spike's eyes. He saw the truth there. But, for some reason, the Chalice could wait. Firebird could wait. Spike knew it too.
No kiss. No passion. Something deeper. Cian, without thinking, dropped his shoulders, smiled, and wrapped his arms around Spike, holding him close.
Spike, now doubly perplexed, slowly softened. He smiled. He held Cian. They held each other.
They had both won something tonight.
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