The drunken celebrants in the bar (not all of them human) raised their beer mugs to Spike in a raucous cheer.
Daemian, grinning ear to ear, handed him his own boot...filled with beer. "Alright, mate, you know what to do."
Spike's stomach turned into knots. Sadly, he did know what to do...he just didn't want to do it. "Oh, Goddesss--your boot!?" It smells so bad. I'm not into feet.
Whether he wanted to or not, the half-pint hero of the day found himself stuck between a barrel chested demon with an ox head, and a busty witch with a crow on her shoulder (who also joined in the drinking song).
The ghoulish assembly sang in unison as Spike chugged.
Here's to Spikey, he's true blue!
He's a piss-pot through and through!
He's a bastard, so they say!
He tried to go to Heaven, but he went the other way!
Spike's forced grin made Daemian's sadistic smile grow larger. Now, the dark magi mouthed: 'Drink it, now'
He went down...down...
Spike said a silent prayer to the Goddess and commenced chugging the boot-soaked beer. Thankfully, the blonde powerhouse (who had just helped save Sydney harbour from demonic destruction) had a very good gag reflex.
He threw down the boot triumphantly on the bar, and then let out a triumphant burp.
The crowd lost their mind. "YAAAAY!" Soon, Spike was being hoisted on shoulders and paraded around the haunted pub. The four armed bartender quietly took Deadboy's boot, wiped it down, polished it, and poured the dark magi and his demon friend, Brax another drink--all at the same time.
Brax looked down at the frothy mug. He didn't drink, so instead passed the mug onto his companion. "Why...did you not summon me during the fight, my kindred? I could have helped."
Daemian was content to let Spike soak up the limelight. Honestly, he wasn't feeling much like a winner at the moment. "I didn't want to risk losing you, bud," he muttered, taking a chug.
"But...if you had died. I would have lost you."
Deadboy shrugged. "Then I would have seen you in Hell."
"Your human sarcasm-as-defense-mechanism belays the fact that you know that it does not work that way, dark one. Gehenna is not the realm of mortal punishment." The canid demon looked away. "Furthermore, why are none of these smelly mortals celebrating you as hard as Spike. It seems you have passed on all the glory to him."
Daemian shrugged, eying a mounted stag head on the wall, (which, in turn, eyed him right back, turning its nose up). "Don't wanna be a tall poppy, ya know? Besides, these folks think I'm trash anyway. All the pranks I've pulled in this town. Hell, in this own pub."
The mounted stag snorted. "You can say that again, ya c***t."
The handsome demoniac lifted up his mug to the decapitated head. "Cheers to you too, Frank." He neglected to tell Brax the time he and Frank had gotten into blows, which had ended with Daemian throwing the animated skull into the loo. And on taco Tuesday night, no less.
After three lapse around the bar, a hefty lizard-man gently lowered Spike back onto a bar stool. The dark magi and monsters patted him on the back, but otherwise left him to his own company.
The familiar, tattooed sailor next to Spike tipped his hat to him.
"Way to go, Spikey," Mick said.
Their reunion earlier in the night--post monster--had been one of many head-spinning moments for Spike, who hadn't seen Mick since his dishonourable discharge. What felt like a lifetime ago was, in truth, only a year.
The taste of boot and hops still intermingling inside Spike's mouth, the blonde hunk shook his head. "I'm trying not to hurl, Mick. But...good seeing you again."
Even with his gold tooth, Mick was the epitome of tasty, rough trade. "Almost like fate, right?"
Suddenly, a vision of that haggard tarot card reader under the bridge in Manhattan came rushing back to Spike. "Yeah," he mumbled. Speaking of fate. Shit, has it really been a year?
"Shore leave. Though honestly, I think I might stay in Sydney after my time is up. I miss home, you know." Mick threw down his beer. The man was in love with life. Nothing bothered him.
Which is why it was weird for Spike to see Mick expressing genuine sentiments. The handsome tattooed sailor cuffed Spike on the shoulder (hard enough that Spike felt his powers activate). "Get a bloody look at you, Waterford. Damn spellbreaking legend, you are. This is the dream you always wanted. I'm so proud."
Spike, who constantly craved validation, never quite knew what to do when getting a compliment suplex like this. He turned away, blushing. "Oh, geez. Dream? I dunno, man. Sometimes it's more like a nightmare, Mick."
"Hmm. You miss the Navy?"
Spike nearly spat out his brew. "Nah. I miss some people. You, for one."
"Ah, big sweetie." Mick wrapped his giant arm around Spike's neck, bringing him in for a hug. It was then Spike realized two things: he was starting to get tipsy, and then Mick hadn't put on deodorant today.
Not that Spike minded much.
"Say, who's that strapping, fiery-headed bloke with the scowl?" Mick turned his head towards a neglected part of a bar, where a certain Cian O'Rourke was drinking by his lonesome and looking glamorously glum.
Spike felt bad. But he didn't know what to say. Even though Buck's kiss had a purpose behind it, it had also proven a point. "Cian," Spike muttered. "He's my coworker and..." Spike thought about what to call him. "Friend. Yeah...friend."
Then it occurred to him why Mick had asked. Spike whipped his head between the two. He's hot, muscular, red-headed and Irish. Mick is hot, muscular, tattooed, and Australian. Shit, if male-assigned-men could make babies...
Spike spoke as if he had just discovered the wheel. "You should...go and talk to him."
Mick made a face. "What? Big, handsome guy like that? And get a look at those legs! He could put one of the Sydney Convicts to shame. I dunno, Spikey. Maybe after some liquid courage."
Spike nodded and, feeling like Mick needed the space to be Mick, got up and left. However, as he looked over his shoulder, he thought he spied a miracle: Cian had come over to speak to Mick, and by that smile on his face, not merely to ask him for a cigarette either. That's my boy.
The air grew cold as Spike crept towards the staircase. Hiding in the shadows, the gloomy, ghoulishly handsome Daemian put a cigarette to his lips, his skull-shaped lighter lighting it with a creepy, green flame.
The badboy fighter barely acknowledged his comrade-at-arms. "Needed a dart." He took a long drag. "Normally, this would be the part of the night where I'd ask if you wanted to go off for a quick root, but..."
He sighed smoke. "I hate to say it, but all I can think about is...him." He winced.
Spike sensed who 'him' was. "Joseph?"
"SHHHHH NOT SO LOUD!"
Though smug, Spike was understanding. He crossed his arms and put a knee up on the bannister, throwing a side-eye at a drunk man hitting on two, unamused succubi sitting at a table in the corner. "You know, you're allowed to break kayfabe with your teammates...mate."
Daemian shrugged. "I don't like getting close to people," he said. "One side...always disappoints the other."
Spike didn't have time for Daemian's broody boy, Scorpio philosophy. "DUDE, you just frickin; saved Sydney. You're a damn hero!"
"STOP SAYING THAT!" Daemian reacted, as if Spike had just yelled he used wet the bed as a kid (which, to be fair, he did) "Spikey, please! Growing up, everyone said I was the bad guy. Now it's weird thinking I did something actually good for once." He put on a sour expression. "This isn't a face-turn, got it? I'm just...er..."
Daemain stamped out the buttof his cigarette, on his tongue no less--and rather than chuck it to the ground, ate it one gulp.
"Happy. I guess. I'm happy, Spike. There. I said it."
"Aww, D!"
Spike jumped into Daemia's arms, nuzzling his face like a small cat.
"I will knock you into next Tuesday, let g---awww fine." Deadboy rolled his eyes, but placed one gentle hand on his friend's hat, patting it. "Thanks, mate. You know, none of these GSA c**ts say it enough, but ever since you and Cian and Kengo joined up, you three have been like a damn trinity of joy, or somethin'. You're like the...I dunno, the glue that holds the place together."
Deadboy grabbed Spike by the shoulders and held him in front of him, at arm's length, so he could look at him.
"Especially you."
"Wow. Thanks." Spike felt his eyes getting all starry. This was where he'd normally start to crush on a hot guy for complimenting him.
But then he realized that Daemian's friendship was much more valuable.
"Don't get used to it," Daemian scowled. He jabbed a thumb at the bar. "Well. I'm gonna get back on the sauce. Maybe I'll dark-corridor to Joseph. Been meaning to check up on him in Japan. Heard Kengo is going to be fighting in Okami for a match."
"Shit!" Spike exclaimed, loudly. He'd been so preoccupied with the tournament, and the Chalice drama, that he'd forgotten to check in on his own roommate. "I should go support him."
"Something tells me that you need rest," Daemian said.
Damn, Deadboy actually caring about me? I must be dreamin'
"Uncle Daniel isn't much for drinking--or compliments--so he's not around but I'm sure I can convince him to zap you back to San Antonio lickity-split."
"That power..." Spike said, under his breath. "Even your Dark Corridors take some time to get through, and not just any normal person can traverse them..."
"Yeah, it's how airplanes stay in business--what's your point?"
"But Uncle Daniel's glyph..."
Daemian looked concerned, not an emotion Spike usually associated with him. "Please keep it a secret, Spike. I'm no tryin' to threaten you, just..."
"Well?"
The punk looked askance. "His glyph is 'Space'."
Spike frowned. "Quit fuckin' with me, wise guy. That glyph do't exist. The book Varla gave me says Space and Time magi went extinct long, long ago."
"Your book don't know the half of it, mate, trust me. Magick is so much stranger and crazier than any egghead scholar knows."
There really was a smart, considerate fellow under that grungy exterior. Who knew? Certainly not Spike. There's tons more I need to learn about magick. Shit.
"Just keep on guard, Spike. I got this feeling in me gut...thing's are about to get intense." With that ominous delivery, Daemian walked away, leaving Spike in the dust.
"More intense?" Spike mumbled. He walked back to the bar. Cian was drinking by himself again, but judging from the half finished pint next to him, only temporarily. "Hey...Cian."
Cian looked like he had just eaten his own shoe in front of Spike. "Er. Hi."
"I'm sorry about Buck--"
"Why are you apologising?" Cian's eyes immediately went to the bathroom door in the back, and Spike put two-and-two togher. "We aren't a thing. I thought we squared that away in the hotel."
"Er...right. I just felt."
"Guilty?" Cian smirked at him. "I'm not going to say anything, boyo. Besides, Mick is coming back in a moment and he...is" Cian blushed. "He is cuuuuute."
"Wah!" Spike's eyes lit up. "Ciannnn!"
The Irish stud put a finger to his lips. "Don't blow this for me, boyo. Besides, we got bigger fish to fry. I need to call John Henry tomorrow." Cian surveyed the room, and, satisfied they were safe, lowered is voice. "While I was trying to apprehend Redback, that Gold Mask guy appeared."
"No frickin' way. Him?"
"Spike, keep your voice down!"
"Sorry!"
"Anyways, big lad saved my arse."
"So....he's a good...guy?"
Cian didn't look so certain. "He gives me a weird feeling, Brooklyn. I'm not saying I'm the best magi out there, but I got a keen eye for magick. His is...it's powerful, and I know he's restraining it. I don't know what his deal is, or why he's helping us, but nothing about him sits right with me."
Just as Spike went to say something more, Mick barged into the scene. He grabbed Spike with one arm, and Cian with the other. Kissed both on the cheek too.
"Can I buy you lads a drink?"
Spike didn't want to steal this moment from his friend, and so gently removed himself from Mick's grasp. "You can by that lad a drink." He looked at Cian and mouthed 'go get 'em tiger.'
Cian glared, as his face turned beet-red. "Feck off. Thank you. By the way....Buck's upstairs. Drinking by himself." He looked away. "You should go fix that."
Spike felt his heart sink. He removed himself from the room and crept up the staircase, terrified and excited. When he got upstairs (and damn, the Aussies had giant pubs) Spike looked around for any sign of his boss, crush, and friend. A few skeletons sat around a table playing Poker, but that was it. The bartender, a lizard woman, pointed politely to the terrace.
Spike found himself looking out over the harbor, at the lights of Horror Land under the harbor bridge. It was then that he realized the night sky above, normally a gray, washed out ceiling with scant few stars, was completely covered in cosmic brilliance. Galaxies. Constellations. Spike had only seen this type of night sky when he was sailing below the equator, far out sea, where the lights of the city couldn't reach. It didn't make sense.
"Woah..." he said. "How?"
"People think dark magick is inherently evil," someone said from above.
Spike craned his neck up. There was a small ladder leading to the pub's roof, the sight of its steepled clock face. "Buck?"
Buck poked his handsome face over the side of the upper roof. "But dark magi can do beautiful things like take the light pollution out of the sky, giving us the true night." He looked up. "The dark magi of Sydney cast a spell tonight in celebration. Can you believe it?" He fell back, past where Spike couldn't see. "I should warn you...I'm a bit high."
"And I'm a but drunk," Spike said, with a trill in his heart, as he climbed up the ladder. He found Buck, knees to chest, underneath the large, stained-glass clock face. "So I guess we're both on the ropes, eh?"
Buck patted the ground next to him, indicating Spike should sit.
Spike, deciding to take the lead this time, kissed him quick, before either of them could get into their heads about it.
Buck winced. "Oh."
"EXCUSE YOU?" Spike said, offended.
"No, not because of the kiss! It's just...I heard they made you drink out of Daemian's boot. Which means...I just kissed the mount that drank from Deadboy's shoe."
"It's called 'a shooey'. And I'm not going to say rude thing's about someone else's culture but..." Spike felt his stomach turn.
"You probably just immunized yourself against like 8 tropical diseases doing that. Also, congrats on saving Sydney or whatever."
"You helped."
"I know," Buck said, snarky. "Your aim needs work."
"Your face needs work!" Spike winced. "Ugh, no it doesn't"
"You're such a dork, Yank."
"I'm going to kiss you again."
"I'm going to let you."
And without fanfare or build-up, Spike and Buck's lips were suddenly connected again. And for a while, too. Spike couldn't remember the last time he'd locked lips with someone for so long. He couldn't breathe. He didn't want to breathe. He wanted to drown in Buck's kiss, if it were possible.
They broke away at the same time. Buck, smiling, couldn't resist falling back on teasing. "Wow, I can't believe it only took a kaiju to get you to finally make a damn move."
Easily rattled, Spike blushed. "I WAS WAITING FOR YOU TO DO SOMETHING, BUCK. Also, was it technically a kaiju or a Lovecraft?"
"I think it's only a kaiju if it comes from Japan, otherwise it's sparkling eldritch horror."
"...And you tellin' me I'm the dork?"
"Yes. So...what now?"
Spike and Buck looked at each other as if they were suddenly the last two men on Earth.
Immediately, Spike turned to how stupid all of this was. And sudden. He felt like he was on a runaway train, but strangely...he wanted to see whether or not it would crash or end up somewhere new, exciting...
Maybe even stable.
"You're the president of the GSA," Spike blurted out, shaking his head as if he couldn't believe what he was doing. "If El Amante finds out about this. I dunno what's worse, getting put in a deathlock or having to file out a disciplinary form. At least one would turn me on more than the other."
Buck acknowledge Spike's concern, and promptly jumped up on his Chuck Taylors, striking a dramatic, heroic pose.
He took on an exaggerated accent. "'Mi hijo, as head of HR I cannot in good faith condone your relations with a fellow employee....however, as the Guardian of Love, I hold romance to be sacred above all other things, and I strongly encourage you to woo Spike and make him feel like the most special man in all the world'."
Buck sat back down next to Spike. he winked at him. "Is probably what he'd say."
Unfortunately, he was right. "I can't believe we put so much trust in a man who doesn't even show his real face. But look, Buck, I don't want to fuck things up. I got a history."
"I know. So do I. Besides, I'm more of a take things slow guy. Look, with Rosa...someone I really liked went on to bigger and better things. I guess I'm afraid of that happening to you too, because let's face it...you're probably on the way to champ."
Spike rolled his eyes. "I just got silver star status, Buck."
"Within a year?" He gave him a bemused expression. "The last person to do that..."
He swallowed his words.
Spike cocked his head to the side. "Hm?"
"...Was my dad."
"OH! But wait, I thought he--"
"Calavera Escarlata came up with the star system. Dad trained under him." The heir to the GSA shuffled in his seat and looked up at the brilliant sky. "He has no idea I'm in Australia, probably. Ever since Varla showed up, he's gone off the deep end. I think he went to Japan to blow off steam with Okami. He'll beat up a few brutes, throw back a few sake bombs, and then get it out of system. I feel like I should...I dunno, be trying to get to know Varla and Laura better. I mean, a half-sister! That's nuts."
"Oh, and your...actual mom," Spike pointed out.
"We know what our relationship looks like now. She's fine."
Judging from the look in Buck's eyes, Spike believed it.
"I know where everyone sits in my life now, Yank. Except...you."
In a moment of resounding clarity, and unexpected maturity, Spike lowered his shoulders and looked at Buck without expectation, nor judgment. "Well, what do you want?"
"For now, fun."
Spike nodded. "I guess I'm okay with fun."
"And to see where it goes. And...I would like it to go somewhere."
The innocent spark of romance. Spike and Buck kissed anew, smiling, giggling, feeling stupid and drunk and high.
It was great.
Spike sighed. Okay, make some moves. Heartbreaker smile activated. "Well, for starters...we could go back to my hotel. Unless Cian is there. With Mick."
Buck leaned in closer. "We can go back to mine. Business suite? Champagne. Do you like champagne."
"No."
"Neither do I, actually."
"But I do like mimosas."
"Wow. How gay."
"Buck, you like men too."
"I think peach bellinis are more of a bi thing."
"Fuck you."
"Fuck you too--let's pick up orange juice on the way back to my hotel."
Spike smiled. Inside, he felt a strange sensation in his heart, a bloom of warmth. It was odd.
He...had never felt this way about another man before.
----
By the time they got into the fresh-smelling hotel room, Buck and Spike were clawing at each other, hands going under shirts, feeling up muscles, and awkwardly falling down to the bed.
Somehow, Buck found himself straddling Spike.
"I mean...this material here is kinda like a mat. Why don't you show me some wrestling?"
"I dunno. I can be kinda rough, Buck." Spike flexed his bicep and gave Buck his signature wink.
"Unmf!" Buck said, longingly (and somewhat comically) feeling up Spike's boulder bicep. "That arm. But...rough, huh? Well, I can be rough too."
Spike wasn't sure how it happened, but somehow Buck had flipped him over--with grappling expertise.
The Sailorboy was both embarrassed and proud "Damn, boy! Strong. Like, unexpectedly."
"I get that a lot," Buck said, taking off his shirt. "Come on Sailor, you aren't gonna let a big heel like me end your streak, are ya?"
"Damn, abs! That chest. Holy shit, Buck, where were you hiding all that muscle?" Spike signed himself over to impulse. He'd been with muscle men, fat men, twinks, bears, wolves, otters--the whole zoo.
But right now? A wild buck was the hottest thing he'd ever set eyes on.
So began the hunt.
Spike sat up, facing Buck, head bent forward in mischievous challenge. Their foreheads touched as they circled each other on their knees, on top of the bedspread 'ring'.
"Oh, we're taking off our shirts now?" Spike said. Though far more sober, Spike nevertheless seized the moment and conjured up enough might to rip his t-shirt right off his chest.
Buck's jaw dropped.
"Gah, yep...there's that Sailor Strength."
They found themselves midway between grappling and wildly, passionate making out with each other. Spike knew his strength and didn't want to make Buck feel bad. Buck didn't want to risk looking weak in front of Spike. Somehow, they met in the middle, both men gaining ground, falling over each other, twisting each other in a fluid dance that was part wrestling match and part dance.
Naturally, Spike ended up on top, letting Buck's hand explore his abs, up to his chest. Their eyes met.
A decision was made.
Spike, for some reason, felt like he was losing his virginity all over again (and it had been awhile). "I mean, if we're going to be doing some wrestling, we might as well..." he tugged at his zipper.
"Pull a Gio?" Buck said, arching an eyebrow. Then, he got the message. "Oh...like...traditional....wrestling"
"Yeah...."
"Yeah."
"..."
Spike pulled down his pants and jock strap. Buck pulled down his jeans and boxer briefs.
Two silhouettes of two fit men in their twenties, in the nude, sizing each other up.
Spike's eyes went downward. "Holy...shit." He IS his dad's son.
"I was going to say the...same. It's not fair that you..." Buck looked into Spike's eyes. "Have both going on."
Spike blinked. "I was a pinup boy, remember?"
"...Spike."
"...Buck."
A mix between kissing and grappling renewed, limbs tangled with limbs, a struggle as much as an exploration.
Suddenly, in the midst of passion, Spike found his neck captured by Buck. "AGH, a guillotine?"
He was strong. Way stronger than Spike expected.
Way stronger than he should be...
Though Spike couldn't see the playful sadism in Buck's eyes, he felt the stubble on his chin against the curvature of his back as Buck said, both soft and cruelly, "Let's hear it. Or do you want to go out?"
Spike had no choice but to tap out.
He yanked his head back and looked at his crush, naked and godlike. Buck was just as shocked as him.
"You just made me tap, and you aren't even--" Spike cut himself off before he could misspeak, but by then it was too late. "Oh, sorry."
And you aren't even a magi.
Buck frowned, sighed, and looked away. "You know how to ruin a moment."
"Yeah," Spike said, deeply embarrassed. He scratched his head. "I know."
"You wouldn't want to date a guy with no glyph."
"That's dumb, Buck. I want...I want you."
The hazel-eyed hunk looked over at him. They found themselves wrapped up in each other again.
"Spike."
"You can call me 'Sammy' if you want."
"It's cute. You're cute. Can I touch you like this?"
"You can do that...and more."
Spike seized the moment, and put Buck back on his back, on top anew. "Ha! Got ya!"
"Oh yeah!? I got you noOooohhh fuck...."
"Yeah, I don't think we're wrestling in the traditional sense any more."
"Buck..."
"Spike...."
----
Somewhere in Japan, amidst a roar of boos from the disapproving crowd, Vahni Rage placed his red boot on the back on the unconscious, broken, and burned champion of the Okami federation. The ref raised Rage's arm to the skies in victory.
"Unhand me, peasant," Rage snarled tearing his arm away. He snatched the belt from the humble officials, and stepped out of the ring. "Now, be gracious to your new champion and fetch me a towel and some sparkling water. With lemon. Or else."
As Rage strutted by disapproving fans, some of them in tears, his burning, dark eyes set themselves upon a strange, pink-haired woman with a cute face, a tutu, and a cats ears and tail. Cognizant of the camera, Rage waited til he was backstage before he snapped his fingers at the PA's and dismissed them (after taking his water and towel of course).
He realized the small woman was carrying a microphone (with a giant heart and bow wrapped around the stem). She did not seem afraid. She smiled and closed her eyes. "Nyaaaa."
Without breaking eye contact, Rage sipped from his straw and sighed. "And who the hell are you?"
The little woman turned around and struck a pose (sparks of light flew from her pink hair, reminding Rage briefly of Iggy Astro) "Just everyone's favorite spellbreaking reporter for Okami, Nekole. Nyyaaaa! Rage-san, you just defeated the champ!"
Rage sighed. "Gods, why me." Unfortunately, though he wouldn't say it out loud, she was...cute.
Plus, if she wasn't afraid of him, she was either respectful or deeply stupid. "What business do you have with me..." Rage groaned. "Miss...Nekole."
Suddenly, Rage was surrounded by TV cameras (all of them capped with cat's ears).
"Gods...really?"
"Everyone wants to know, Mr. Rage! Now that you made it this far into the World Championships, the only logical opponent left for you take on would be White Tiger! And you know I'm a fan of a big, cute cat man, nyaaan! Can you confirm that you've got your eyes set on the champion of the GSA?"
Rage cocked his head to the side, scratching his beard in contemplation. It was a valid question. After all, Semyon (the snake) had informed him that this was to be Rage's next big booking. Not that Rage could object. The man paid his bills.
But...then again...do I even need the money at this point?
A dark impulse took hold. Fights like this always made him more clear headed, like he could see all of his possible paths laid out. And this time, his path wasn't going to be dictated by Semyon Grigorivich, or Firebird.
"You know, Nekole, my beauty, that is a rather good question." Courteous to those who showed him sincere admiration, and not toadying fear, Rage respectfully gestured for her to hand him the mic.
The starry-eyed cat girl obliged.
Grr. It's so...pink. "Right. Well, my loyal worshippers and stupid peasants alike, the last thing your favorite spellbreaker would want to do is disappointed you, or even worse, do something boring an expected. I am not a blood-starved hound meant to be tied on a short collar. Far from it. I'm a divine beast, sent to bring retribution to the weak and miserable. So, I'm a bit insulted you think a little...kitty cat like White Tiger would be challenge enough for the Warrior of Flame."
Watching on a TV set miles away in his chamber of the Russian palace, Grigorivich suddenly leaned in and turned up the volume on his TV set. "Oh? Rage, my sweet child...what do you think you're doing?"
Rage's handsome, cruel face stared directly down the camera. "No. A beast of the gods needs a more worthy opponent. And I hear there's a golden lion named Sailorboy Spike who's been making waves."
Smeyon clutched the TV remote harder. "Hmmm?"
On TV, Nekole gasped, excited. "Yes! The Sailor Stud has a growing fanbase here in Japan too! He's Kuma Kengo's roommate! We love him."
Rage nodded. "Then, how unfortunate that I will need to take him from you. Spike knows it's been a long time coming, this battle between us. It's destiny. Fate. Which is why I am going to set the terms of the fight--and I say that our arena shall be in my family's temple, in India." His sneer at the camera could have easily broken the lens.
Everyone gasped. "WHAT?"
In his chamber, Semyon snapped the remote control in two.
Rage wasn't done yet. Eyes glowing like embers, a fiery aura surrounded him. "Did you hear that, Spike? It's time I ended your little streak, and perhaps your career. I told you this once already, my little lion...you belong to me!"
To Be Continued
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