Spellbreaking had long since become an international sensation across the world, with fans on every continent (including Antarctica), and fighters from across the Seven Seas. The basic setup was always the same: skilled magi fighters combining muscle and magick to defeat their foes.
Still, every corner of the globe did the sport differently. In Japan, for example–dominated by the flashy and illustrious Okami federation–spirit summoning battlers employed spirits and demons in-ring, adding even more supernatural hijinx to the spectacle. Australia's scant few spellbreaker leagues, though humble, focused on campy blends of horror and comedy, typically employing magi whose powers had deformed them or left them ostracized by society, giving them a chance to turn their curses into blessings. Then, you had the Texas-American connection of leagues, mostly dominated by the GSA, featuring attractive, athletic heroes and villains whose good looks and muscle mastery were half the fun.
But the Mexicans did it differently (and arguably, bigger and better). Combining the principles of lucha libre, masked fighters (identities kept guarded secrets from even their closest friends) took to the ring in 3-on-3 brawls, with three rounds on the line. In these sacred arenas, heroes and villains alike–or tecnicos and rudos–combined high-flying, high-octane magical actions with acrobatic might.
Still, many of those spellbreakers south of the border hadn't yet crossed over into the northern, save for one heroic hunk–El Amante Intoxico. Having dropped out of the World Championships for personal reasons (though accolades had never been the aim of the ‘Scorpion of Seduction’s anyway), the muscle man in the purple trunks (and constantly visible, red thong line) decided to dip down to Mexico City and put on a hometown show just for fun. His name, of course, was a huge draw.
Though many champs found their egos enlarging with their victories, El Amante was a constant delight and warm presence in the locker room. It helped that his innate abilities compelled affection. It also helped that he was a giant man built of out solid muscle. Led by the famed veteran spellbreaker-turned-manager, Calavera Escarlata, all eyes turned to the strapping long-haired former male stripper as he strutted behind the colorful vet in the ever-burning skull mask.
“Tonight is going to be quite the show!” the fire-mage said, grandly, as led El Amante to a more private section. “I have decided the theme for your match will be Three Generations of Warriors.”
Curious, and ever the 'team player', El Amante scratched his head (or mask, rather). “Where do I fall into the equation, handsome skull? Am I the old guy?”
“‘Fraid that would be me…”
El Amante turned towards the gruff, yet noble, voice. A large man with colorful trunks, green cape, and a head-piece decked out with feathers, smiled in his direction. His arms were folded across his broad chest; a typical lucha libre heroic pose; yet this hunk was maskless. He was a daddy to the extreme–graying at the temples, bearded, with kind and heroic eyes. A masked fighter of such esteem was rare in these parts. Usually, maskless fighters had been put there without choice, their masks torn cruelly from their face by rudos, or lost in mask-on-the-line matches.
However, Cuauhtémoc was not just ANY spellbreaker. He was the 'Feathered Dragon', a man of the people who had shunned hiding his face to get closer to his loyal subjects. A king if there ever was one, he had even taken his name from the last Aztec Emperor. El Amante was truly in the presence of royalty.
As a consummate professional, the Warrior of Love shook the gentleman’s hand (and what a firm handshake it was). “I am Victor. It is an honor, my liege.”
The giant man’s smile was infectious. “Just call me Temo. Everyone else does. It has been awhile since I’ve ruled a ring. I suppose you will need to help make sure I do not throw out my back.” He winked.
Inside, El Amante squealed. Ahhh he’s so humble and handsome! I think I’m in love all over again!
“So,” Victor started, “that must mean I am the young guy, eh, Calavera?”
“Actually,” Calavera said. “You are the middle ‘brother’ of the bunch.” He looked down at his watch. “Unfortunately, these young ones are never on time.”
El Amante tapped his finger to his chin. “I wonder who it could be. Also–”
Suddenly, a blur of motion caught El Amante’s attention. He trained his eyes on the shadows of the locker room, scanning the area. The chicken-headed El Pollo grabbed an avocado soda from the vending machine and cocked his head at his peer. "Bagawk?"
"No, Pollito, not you. Did you see something just now?"
The chicken wrestler blinked. "Bawk?"
"No, I haven't touched a drop today. Hmm. Perhaps I…am seeing things?”
Temo looked over his shoulder, at the bench. He picked up the small object, a black card with a pink domino mask on the front. “What's this thing”
Something darted behind Temo, causing his cape to billow.
El Amante narrowed his eyes. Then, he sighed. “Don’t tell me…”
“AH HAAAA!”
The hidden spellbreaker jumped down from the lockers. Clad in leather chaps around his waist, and sporting a hot pink bandana, the mischievous, masked menace decked out in pink and grenn landed on his boots, hands on hips.
After a brief, awkward pause, his chaps fell around his ankles. El Amante, Calavera, and Temo blinked silently.
“Gahh!” The bumbling fighter bent over and began to disentangle himself (with great difficulty). “I…uhh….meant to do that.” He coughed and resumed his heroic stance. “Yes! It is ME! Feast your eyes on the PINK BANDITO!”
Ambient trumpets and guitars from nowhere in particular blared a sexy little riff.
Nobody in the room was amused.
“Banditooo!” El Amante blurted out, groaning. He was glad he was wearing a mask, or he’d be blushing in embarrassment in front of two spellbreaking legends. “You're the third guy? But…you aren’t ring ready, mi amor.”
“Ahhh,” the Pink Bandito started, dropping to his knee and taking his coach’s hand in his, giving it a kiss, “But the Pink Bandito is ALWAYS ready, my handsome coach.”
El Amante grunted. “First of all, I do the hand-kiss thing around here. We cannot have two overly-romantic himbos in this fed.”
Upon spying the other hunk in the room, Bandito gasped and collapsed onto his knees in front of the bemused Cuauhtémoc, his hands extended in a declaration of love. “And…and… this tasty piece of pan dolce can only be, my King, Cuauhtémoc!”
“Try that kiss with me, chico, and you’ll be pulling back a bloody stump.” Then, looking into Bandito’s wet, trembling eyes, the big man sighed. “Fine. If it makes you happy..."
“The Pink Bandito ALWAYS asks for consent,” the little scamp said, kissing his superior’s hand. Finally, he rose, bowing profusely at Calavera. “Gentleman, I have come to lend my MORAL SUPPORT, and not my beautiful, handsome muscles!”
Unnecessary exclamation aside, he began to do an impromptu, seductive cha-cha.
“No kiss for me, Bandito,” Calavera laughed. Fortunately for the wet-behind-the ears luchador, the seasoned vet found his antics highly entertaining.
“Not if I don’t want my bandit lips to burn!”
Temo rolled his eyes. “Kid, your dance moves are just as good as your Spanish.”
“Thanks!”
“That wasn’t a compliment…”
“But it is as I said,” the broad shouldered and blue-eyed fighter said, with a dramatic flourish. “Much like you, teacher, I have returned to my roots to support you and my friend in your fantastic–and sexy–endeavors.”
El Amante scratched his head. “Roots? Aren’t you from Connecticut?”
“Ah! The Pink Bandito’s origin is shrouded in mysteryyyyyy! However, the roots of my fighting in a mask begin here in Mexico City.” He pointed to Temo. “You, of course, are the King in this sexy ensemble of tres enchiladas.” He then fawned over at his teacher. “And you, of course, are the Warrior of Love–which makes you the knight protector! The only thing you are missing, naturally, is…” he wiggled his eyebrows, and gestured stage-left. “A prince.”
He waited. Everyone else waited.
Still stuck in his pose, Bandito coughed. “I said...A Prince!”
"Oh, is that my queue?"
A small, but built fighter jumped into the room, and flexed. He then pointed to Bandito. “And I guess every royal court needs a jester too! Hello everyone! It’s me, Prince Lazuli. Tiny, tough, and ready to rumble with some rudos!” Eyes sparkling, and beautiful long hair flowing behind their attractive mask, Lazuli held out his hand and conjured up a dazzling, shard of blue stone, which burst into starry light.
While Bandito was much too starry eyed to speak, El Amante surveyed the young man, up and down, as did Temo. “Ah, right, Prince Lazuli. You’re the new guy, huh?”
“The Prince is an up-and-comer,” Calavera explained patiently. “I thought you three would make a perfect trio--the past, the present, and future of masked spellbreaking!”
“Past,” Temo scoffed, benevolently. “You really do make me sound like yesterday’s news.” He puffed out his chest and walked the room, conjuring up a subtle, cool breeze to ruffle his feathers and cape. “You young guns are 'all talk' anyway. You want to impress me? Show me how you fight tonight.” He stopped in front of Lazuli, who maintained eye contact. “And you. You are…small.”
“And strong!” Lazuli shot back, confidently. He flashed his superior a big, nervous grin. "Hehehe...?"
“Yes,” El Amante said, already sensing the rising tension in the room. He subtly cooled it down by radiating his own aura of calm, channelling his own magic of emotional influence. “Anybody with the right gifts can be a spellbreaker. Lazuli…” He dropped to his knee and extended his hand, in a much more smoother (and welcome) gesture as Bandito had made previously. “Indeed, my handsome prince, I shall be your knight tonight.”
Lazuli blushed. He was not immune to El Amante’s charms. “Wow. You are…very muscular, huh? But, nice as it is, I don’t need a knight to kick ass. I'll show you what I'm made of. And that's solid rock.”
“Just make sure it’s not us trying to protect you the whole time,” Temo said, gruffly. “You cocky, young studs always like to show off and end up getting your butts handed to you. Seen it happen tons of times before.”
Bandito jumped to his friend’s defense. “It will be the Prince who will be the one handing out the butts tonight, my King! Many butts!”
El Amante shook his head, unsure of whether Bandito’s Spanish was off, or if he was just being…well…Bandito.
Calavera clapped his hands, inadvertently creating a burst of flame with the percussion. “Okay, boys, enough introductions. The fight is in 15. You go out there and make sure those villains remember masked spellbreaking’s royal family!”
To Be Continued
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