Chapter 9: Love is a Battlefield

"You did WHAT?"

Camazotz Jr. roared into the handheld radio receiver, gingerly stepping over the body of an unconscious Aradia security guard. There was no need to keep his voice down, of course. All seven guards had fallen to him with little resistance. The wicked bat god turned a corner, ignoring the smell of mildew, steel, and old wood inside the dusty warehouse in Oaxaca. He still couldn't believe the boss had forced him to come out this far.

The radio crackled back. Even far away, Serpent's cold, deep voice inspired obedience. "Mind your tone when you speak to me, Junior." The man paused. "Am I not a man of honor? A deal is a deal. The GSA won. The Chalice is theirs. I told Colt where he can find Victor. This is out of our hands now."

Camazotz Jr. glared at a swinging lightbulb overhead, finally settling his eyes on the metal case set on the shelf, deliberately indistinguishable from the others. "You're just going to hand him over?" he sniffed, checking the label for the right serial number. This was the one. Inside was the Chalice that El Amante's bitch of a cousin had whisked away, right under his nose.

"I never said that. They'll still need to beat him and break the curse." 

"Well, that's all very well and good, but I'm already at Aradia's warehouse! I have the case with the chalice at my finger tips, just as you said I'd find it."

"Pull back, Junior. It's...over." 

This had to be a joke! Camazotz Jr. even suspected intentional sabotage, or a rouse.

Very well, then. A minor inconvenience. He had a plan B, anyway. What were years of allegiance to Serpent when someone else had already presented a smoother deal? Besides, it was in a rudo's nature to betray...

"Have you heard of the man in the Gold Mask?" Serpent asked. "Also known as The Jackal." 

Camazotz lifted the metal briefcase off the shelf. It was heavier than he expected. "You're talking nonsense, boss!" 

Serpent's tone was not insulted, or intemperate, but chillingly patient. "Camazotz Jr. Listen. I have spoken with this...man. I have made my decision based off the intelligence I have received. Los Venoms no longer shares a common interest with Firebird. For now, we assist the GSA. This is simply practicing good business, amigo. There's no sense in maintaining a dominion if there is nobody left to dominate, and if Firebird gets its way-"

"Traitor!" Camazotz Jr. spat. He couldn't believe this! "First T. Rex, now you? Cowards! I'll go my own way then."

"You are making a mis-"

Beep.

Growling, Camazotz Jr. switched the channel, welcoming the rush of new static. 

"No, Serpent. It is YOU who is mistaken."

The bat brushed aside fast food wrappers piled on the security desk and placed the case down. He dialled the frequency his contact at Firebird had given him. It was time to make a deal.

"Hello. This is the number, yes? Los Venoms is over. Consider this my defection. I will give you your chalice."

"Understood," came the unfamiliar voice on the other end. Was that a woman? Strange accent too...

"Grrr." Camazotz Jr. switched off the receiver and placed it next to the case. He sighed. What a shit night this had been.

Trying to recompose himself, he decided to check the contents. It would look very bad for him if he handed over an empty case, after all. He flipped the clasps up and opened the case. 

"Now...let's see...WHAT?"

He had barely time to register the arrow-headed snake, reared up and fangs bared, as it hissed and sunk its teeth into his hand.

"AGH!" Camazotz Jr. screamed, reeling back. He clamped his hand down on his bloody injury. He backed away. The snake slithered out of the case, onto the table, away from him. The box had been empty. Well, almost. Inside, a small cassette player, triggered by the opening of the case, started playing.

Camaztoz Jr. felt his head fog up and his body tingle. Something was wrong. He'd been envenomated. In a panic, he called out. "Someone...he-"

But his voice failed him, his muscles spasming. The paralysis took hold, driving him first to his knees, and then flat onto the ground. He shook and seized, eyes bloodshot and going wide. A trickle of foam poured out of his mouth.

Serpent's familiar voice came from the tape deck hidden inside the case. "If you're listening to this, Camazotz Jr., then you've probably realized by now that you've just made your last mistake. Nobody turns their back on Los Venom. Consider this my vengeance on behalf of Dark Sabre and his son, El Amante Intoxico. The slate has been wiped clean. Farewell, old friend. Til we reunite...in Hell."

As the light faded from Camazotz Jr.'s eyes, the broad, intimidating man watching from the shadows finally stepped out into the light between the shelves. In his hand, the topaz colored Chalice of Will.

Dressed in a proper button-up shirt and well-tailored pants (complete with an ammonite printed necktie) the masked T. Rex's eyes glimmered in the dark, matching his eerie grin. 

"Hehehe. Tough luck, little bat! Should have played nicer!"

---

"Now, you die, you worthless twink."

"Gee, Amante, you could at least do me the solid of spitting on me if you're gonna call me a worthless twink!"

The 'Dark' El Amante (Spike refused to call him by his new moniker, El Odio) held Spike up by the shoulders, several feet off the canvas. The beefy, brainwashed, masked hunk dug his claws in deep, bruising the fair skinned Spike's muscular shoulder muscles.

Inside the humid, misty auditorium, the audience held their breath, hands covering faces. Colt hung his head. "This is my fault..." he said under his breath. He'd already lost one student when El Amante turned 'dark'. Now, he was about to lose another. He prayed the soma would be enough to preserve Spike's internal organs and bones from being completely obliterated by El Amante. 

In the weeks since he'd been cursed by the Obsidian Tablet, Victor, or El Amante Intoxico, had ended every match by KO'ing his opponent and then digging in, long after the bell had rung. Curb stomps. Haymakers to the face. Bone-ripping holds. He had dismantled everyone who had gotten into a ring with him. By the second official match, he'd been disqualified, instead moving on towards the underground fight scenes in Central America.

Mr. Iron had been tracking his movements for weeks. El Amante was without a master. He had become a living force of sheer hate, compelled to brutality and violence. Just as Lily had warned, his was an insatiable bloodlust.

And now, Spike was in the ring with him, and in a very bad spot. His pretty noggin was about to be turned into flan.

Eyes burning bright green under the Tablet's curse, El Amante sneered at his prey. "You came into the GSA like you were the new alpha, forgetting we already had a bull in this stable. You're no stud like me, Spike. You're just a little boy. I think I'll rip your DICK OFF!"

"Woahhhhh," Spike said, choking back laughter. "I know the real Victor is in there, because that just sounds ridiculous!" He tried not to let the pain show on his face, even though he was forcing his legs to kick and struggle on instinct. "El Amante Intoxico is bad at heat; everyone knows it. His heart is too big to threaten. I mean, hell, you're the only guy I know who gives after care to his opponents!"

El Amante clamped down harder. Spike bit down on his tongue to keep from crying out.

"You'll believe me alright, when I hurricanrana your blonde head into porridge!"

"What the hell is porridge?"

"It's like a type of OATMEAL. NOW...Get ready to die!"

I'm really not ready to die, Spike thought to himself. He was out of options. 

Well, every option but one, he remembered, as his thoughts drifted back to the day before...strangely enough to the same place where he was probably about to end up (if he was lucky).

The hospital.

--- 

Shockingly, Spike had never found himself inside a hospital before. He chalked it up to the protection of his glyph. He'd sustained some pretty tough falls (without soma or other magickal intervention) in his 23 years on Earth, but his ability to transmute energy had always absorbed, or off-set, any impact. 

Walking through the brightly lit, sterile corridors of the lakeside hospital now, Spike was taken in by how efficient and focused the staff were. He'd grown up hearing a lot of prejudiced comments about the capabilities of countries below Texas, and he was glad to see they were all wrong. The place was state of the art.

After speaking with the receptionist, Spike followed the signs (using his rudimentary Spanish skills) to the correct wing and corridor. The halls were lined with large windows, letting in natural light from the beautiful landscape outside. Nurses chatted with patients, carting along IV drips, on mid morning strolls. Despite the inherent nature of the building as a place for the sick and injured, the atmosphere was lively and positive. Spike felt at ease.

A young, curly haired nurse laughed, walking out of Iggy's private room. "For the millionth time, it's a fine lyric. I'm sure you'll change it again the next time I come to check your vitals."

Yep. This was the right room. Spike tapped the green sticker on his navy striped, cut-off t-shirt, indicating he was a visitor. The nurse nodded for him to proceed.

At first, Spike didn't recognize the attractive, muscular figure sitting up in the hospital bed, a notebook in their hand. Iggy's pink-rimmed glasses were familiar, but his brunette hair was definitely not. He looked like a cross between a metal head and a high school secretary (and still, somehow, ridiculously sexy).

The androgynous Brazilian looked up and frowned on instinct, before their eyes filled with starlight. "Padrãozinho?" They said. Wincing, they pushed their glasses up the bridge of their nose. "Or...am I in hell now?"

Spike gave them a sheepish shrug, and shut the door behind them. "Nah, it's just me." He looked around the room. It was pretty minimal. A blue privacy curtain. A bedside table. A notebook with pen rested in Iggy's lap. They wore a white, hospital gown. Behind them, the open window let in a fresh breeze from the clear day outside. 

Iggy grunted and gestured for their apprentice to approach. "Hugs. Now."

"Yes, mistress."

Spike leaned over, somewhat awkwardly, and found themselves pulled into Iggy's tight embrace. "No, Igg--"

"Oh, yes," Iggy said, laughing, smushing Spike's face into their chest. "You didn't think you'd escape a tiddy smother, did you? No bullet could stop me from that."

Spike laughed, holding onto their friend's big arm. It felt like comfort. "I was afraid. Please do not get shot again."

"But it was so much fun the first time! Ah, the healing hugs of a twunk. No better medicine."

Spike pulled back to allow them some breathing room. His eyes were on Iggy's IV drip. "Are you...okay?"

Iggy shrugged. "Nothing major. Here, I can even..." The spellbreaker tried to reposition themselves, legs swinging over the bed. But not even they could maintain a poker face. 

"Eeesh," Iggy said through clenched teeth. "That hurts good."

Spike's paternal instincts took over. "Hey, hey, don't stand up! Take it easy."

In typical Iggy fashion, the Light magi rebuffed him, forcing himself onto his feet. "The nurses want me to try standing. A little bit each day." He pointed to the window. "Push those curtains back and open the window. Now."

Still so bossy, Spike thought, hiding his eye-roll but otherwise doing as told. He threw back the curtains, letting in more light and air. "Woah..."

Outside, Lake Chucuito sparkled like polished silver. Cradled by green mountains, with a bright, blue sky overhead, it cast its own enchantment over Spike. Far off in the distance, Spike noted a golden aura coming from a distant island. He felt a familiar tug in his heart, the same sensation he'd experienced when he set eyes on the Chalice of Will.

It had to be the Isla Del Sol, the location of the Divine Wellspring. 

Iggy dragged his IV drip, on wheels, over to Spike's side. "Beautiful, no?" 

At last, Spike was able to free his eyes from the lake's spell. He looked over at Iggy. Beneath the hospital gown, he could see the faint outline of bandages and wraps across Iggy's hip.

"They hit me in the left quadrant," Iggy explained, with a proud smile on his face. The light from the outdoors made him shimmer. Even in hospital, the hunk was beautiful. "Dodged my intestines by less than a centimetre. My mother always did say I was born under a lucky star..."

Spike's heart was sore at the thought that he had even come close to losing his teacher. "How long do you think you'll be out?"

"Heh." Iggy sighed. "Longer than I'd like to say out loud. It's...fine."

Spike bit his lip. Sounded like it was anything but fine...

"I was thinking of taking a break from spellbreaking anyways and going back to music." They held up the notebook. There was a playful, almost childish excitement in their voice. "I've got almost a whole album's worth of material here, kitten! By the way, tell anybody you saw with my natural haircolor and I'll put you in here with me."

Spike gulped. "Gah! Yes, master. Um...but if it counts for anything, your hair looks great. In any color."

"Heh." Iggy smiled and brushed back their rock star mane, sending glittery sparkles out from their luscious locks. "Good kitten. My roots were coming in so I rinsed the pink out. I forgot how...'normal' I could look. It's disgusting, no?"

"Iggy, you would need to try very hard to look disgusting..."

Iggy smiled at their friend. They defaulted to silence, looking upon the beautiful waters of the sacred lake instead. "You know...it feels kinda weird being back on my home continent."

Spike blinked. A hamster in a wheel inside his brain went to work. "Oh yeah, Brazil!"

"Heh. You Americanos don't understand how vast and varied all the countries are in South America. It's familiar, and yet not. I've never been to Bolivia before." They smiled. 

"Well, that makes two of us. Was the transfer to the hospital a hassle?"

"No. Like I said, I'm very lucky. The doctors said I should be out within another week."

"Have you decided where you'll go next?"

A shadow crossed Iggy's beautiful visage. "Hmm. That entirely depends on what happens with Victor. I tell you, it's a damn good thing I'm stuck in this hospital. Otherwise, I would have destroyed the world to get him back."

Spike didn't doubt it. Iggy was scary, and had the magick to back it up. Sometimes, they reminded Spike of one of the villains from Kengo's manga. 

Still, Iggy was different with Spike than they were in-ring. He was more vulnerable, for one. But he never showed it n his voice. Still smiling confidently, Iggy said, "I...feel useless. It's almost an exciting, new feeling."

"You aren't." I am.

They shook their head. "Kitten, my lover has been enchanted by magick older than I can comprehend. I'm not just a good magi, I'm fucking brilliant. But this? This shit is above me." They turned back to their night stand and grabbed a cup of water. Spike wondered, briefly, if it was to disguise a restrained sob.

Even on the down-and-out, Iggy oozed charisma. There was something about them that made one want to lean forward and listen. "I've been in touch with my mother, the professor. She's looked into the matter. Enchantments like this are very hard to break. But there is one type of magick that could do the trick. The oldest kind in fact." Iggy laughed at the absurdity of it. "Cheesy as it sounds...it's 'love'. Well, more the complex neuro-chemical reactions we call 'love', but let's not split hairs."

Genuinely impressed that Iggy had been hard at work, even while struggling against injury, Spike took a moment to gather his thoughts. He grinned, ear to ear. "Master...how dare you say you were useless..."

Though Spike knew the compliment had probably landed, Iggy was off on their own tangent now, circling around the hospital floor, carting along their IV drip. It was an almost comical sight.

"Problem is, kitten, they really don't want me to try and face Victor myself, which is ironic, as I'm probably one of the few hunks in the GSA who could kick his ass. Maybe. I've fought him before, you know. It's how we met."

"Oh?" Spike said. "Who won that match?"

Iggy thought for a moment, and then winked. "That's a secret. Consider it an incentive for us to stay alive and get Victor back, eh?" He sighed, grasping his head--like an old, grand dame about to faint. "My fair Samuel Waterford. I am searching the cosmos for an answer to this predicament..."

Spike flinched at the sound of his own name, remembering that Iggy had recently heard his own boyfriend's real name for the first time ever. He decided not bring it up. It was probably for the best Iggy not relive that trauma, or even that moment of intimacy.

And besides all that, something more important had forced its way to the forefront of Spike's mind. He spoke it aloud as he recollected. "Love is a kind of energy."

"Huh?" Iggy blinked, flittering trough the pages of their notebook. "Did...did I write that lyric down?"

"No," Spike said, completely serious. "It's something someone said to me, recently. Look, stud, I...have never really believed in myself. 'Til recently, anyway. I'm just starting to understand my own powers."

"You are most welcome for that, by the way."

"Fair enough, Master, but listen. In the Navy, we learn that when all other options fail, we gotta' be inventive. Now, I haven't always been the most smartest person, but I've gotten a lot better. So, let's do something risky. Let's plan--"

"WAIT." Iggy suddenly shouted, causing Spike to nearly jump out of his sneakers. "Wait, wait, wait don't you DARE interrupt me now--I am having a moment of geniusssss."

Spike stood back, worried Iggy was about to explode. The light in the room grew brighter. Spike looked towards the window, at the sunlit lake, but soon recognized that light was coming from, well, Iggy.

The rock star spellbreaker tossed their hair back, sending a rainbow flurry of sparkles around the room. They conjured up a glowing, neon heart, orbited by a cycling ring of green arrows.

"Love."

"Yes. Heard of it before. Not that I would know..."

"Love is a kind of energy," Iggy said, flicking the circling ring of arrows around his light construct, sending them spinning faster. "It causes a pattern of synapses and electricity in the brain, with its own energy signature. And when it comes to Viki, kitten, I have that energy in abundance." They flicked the light, shattering it into glittery dust, before snapping their fingers at their student. "You. Come here."

Confused, and more than a little hesitant, Spike took a step forward. "Oh, ok--"

He forgot how quick Iggy could be. The hospital-bound spellbreaker wrapped their free hand around Spike's neck, pulling them in close. Intimately close. 

Spike promptly turned a deep red. "I-I-IGGY?" This wasn't the first time they had been intimate with their friend, but Iggy was always so damn intense when they turned on the charm.

Iggy stared down at Spike with eyes full of adoration. "Spike. I'll say this once. I am so grateful you've come into my life. I love seeing other perspectives. For someone so dumb, you really do make me think." 

Spike was at a loss for words. "Iggy..."

"I'm kidding about you being dumb, by the way. You know I think you're brilliant. And...I want to show it to you, from my heart. But also, I want to kiss you like I would kiss him."

!!!

Spike sputtered, but they didn't dare remove themselves from Iggy's iron grip. "WHAT! I don't understand."

"Oh, you will." Iggy winked. "Buckle up, kitten..."

For such a brutal fighter, Iggy's lips were the softest in the world. He kissed lightly, but powerful, with the tip of his tongue just coquettishly teasing the inside of Spike's mouth. Befitting a relentless warrior, however, Iggy didn't let up once he had their lips on you. Spike suspected he was really into making out...

But this time was different. Whatever Iggy was doing, it made Spike melt into an aether of ecstasy and warmth. He felt pure light wash over him, enter his body. Was this magick, or something else? He kissed back, mindful of Iggy's injury, but pulling him in tighter. It was only then that he had to remind himself that Iggy's heart belonged to another. What Spike would have given to experience this with someone else...

At last, Iggy let go.

Spike had to take a deep breath to prevent himself from stumbling backwards. "Oh...that was...better than sex." He looked down at his hands and arms. "Oh...I'm glowing again. Just like back in Vegas." He smiled.

Iggy winked. "Remember, what happens in Vegas..."

It was only then that Spike realized his glyph had activated. It was just something one knew, as a magi, a kind of warmth and electricity in the chest. "I feel...different," Spike said. "What just happened?" 

"I'll explain later," Iggy said, already withdrawing back to their bed, "but we just combined magick. Yours...and a type of magick for which the Goddess didn't even need to invent a glyph. The oldest magick of all. We might just have a chance now."

Spike didn't need to try and think about it. "I know what I need to do tonight." Even he was in awe of his confidence. "Shit, even three months ago I don't think I coulda' sound like that. I mean, who do I think I am, White Tiger?"

Iggy rolled their eyes. "Hopefully less of a goodie-two-shoes."

"You know goodie-two-shoes with an ass like mine?"

"Once you learn to think before you speak, you'll get somewhere far." Iggy poked Spike on the nose. "I can say this now, since it looks like I'll be out of the running for a good while, but...I think...you really do have a shot at being the next GSA champion."

Where was the catch? Spike stared blankly ahead, for several seconds, until he realized there was none. "...Iggy."

The wounded spellbreaker sat back down, with some discomfort, reclining like a Greek god on a dais. They yawned. "I mean, either you, Kengo, or Cian, anyway. So don't get your hopes up too much. Now, run along, kitten. Go get my boyfriend back for me." They winked. "Or I'll kill you!"

Chapter 6: The Divine Chalice of Will

One upon a time, a man and woman lived in a house in a small village where it always rained--no matter the day or the season. Though the two were very much in love, the husband died unexpectedly, leaving the woman a widow caring for a large house, all on her own.

Then, one evening, the rain stopped. 

A stranger appeared in town. Though he was handsome, with beautiful eyes, the villagers were wary and kept their distance. All save for the widow. The spark between them grew into a flame. Though they loved each other, truly, they could not be together for long. The stranger moved on. The rains returned. And, in nine months, the woman bore a son. Beautiful, but most unusual, the child had the ability to compel affection from all around him, and so he hoped to never be lonely. Yet, as time went on and the boy grew older, the others in the village began to fear him. They called him cursed. Inhuman. 'The son of the devil', they said. Eventually, he was shunned. His mother fell ill and died, leaving him all alone in the world.

And so, he decided to become the devil that others called him. Powerful and strong, he fell in with a group of bandits.

Yet the boy would soon remember, in time, that his destiny was not one of loneliness and spite, but love and warmth...

Chapter 4: The Legacy

Once upon a time there was a large house with a large family, in the middle of the countryside. Among the many sons and daughters and cousins and uncles who dwelt in the house, there was a man, a kindly and patient gardener (though his father had wanted him to become a warrior). He fell in love with a woman, strong-willed and quick tempered (whose father had wanted to become a docile wife). Through countless battles of wills and desperate pleas to the heads of house, the family allowed the man and wife to be wed. 

The man and woman tried many times to have a child, without luck. Then, one day, an old woman appeared in the village. Her face bored deep scars. Her hands were gnarled. Her breathe reeked. She went from door to door, begging for scraps, but all turned away from her in fear. When she approached the very large house on top of the hill, the kindly man and the fierce woman answered her pleas with compassion. The man took her to the garden and allowed her to take as much as she needed. Yet, the woman accepted only one, ripe, juicy tomatillo. When the men in the village came to the door to demand the woman be thrown out beyond the boundaries, the woman there chased them away from her doorstep, allowing the old woman safe passage into the night.

Before she left, the very old woman thanked the man, telling him, 'what is grown here, is grown with love.' She blessed the man and woman thrice, and told them that 'roses would grow here forever more', and that they would have a child within a year. The woman vanished into the night.

Sure enough, the woman fell pregnant and gave birth to a daughter. From her cradle, and eruption of roses bloomed. The vines and roots covered the floors, ran out the doors and windows, and took hold of the garden. The family rejoiced, and ever since, has been in the business of selling flowers.

As for the daughter...

Supernova Press!

Jack Frost, "The Icepick" VS Iggy Astro "The Cosmic Crusher

Jack Frost: That PUNK Iggy Astro is about to get the DEEP FREEZE! I'm Jack Frost, and I just looooove taking on prettyboys. And do you know why? Because by the time I'm done with them, they're DISFIGURED, DEFEATED, AND DEEEEFILED! Hahaha! My shards of ice are just DYING to cut up that pink pussy Astro's painted up mug!

Iggy Astro: Silly little snowman. You and I might both be villains, but do you know the difference? My magnificent art ENHANCES the beauty of my defeated jobbers. I prize beauty and brawn above all things. So, I think it's funny that you hide your face beneath a mask. Hahaha! You must be really ugly!

Jack Frost: We'll see who's ugly when I'M DONE WITH YOU!"

Iggy Astro: Tsk tsk. You know what a comet did to the dinosaurs, don't you? Your ice age is about to come to an end.... 

*bell!*

5 minutes of brutal beatdown later.

Iggy: Oh I'm sorry, did my stardust blind you? Well, a promise is a promise. I'll make sure your outsides look pristine, padrão. As for your insides...I'm gonna turn them into STAR JELLY. Let's rock and roll, motherfucker!

SUPERNOVA PRESS! Jack Frost is reduced to a smoking crater!

Iggy: Oh dear, I think we need a medic. Hope you don't miss solid food too much, Jacky boy! Hehehe. I'm such a bad little kitty.

The End!

Chapter 13: A Golden Mask / A Sunflower

Colors and shapes, and the blur of frantic people blended in slow motion around Spike, running alongside Marcy Diamond and Cian. PAs and arena staff shouted commands. The crackle of walkie talkies was a distant din. Suddenly, the bright halogen of the hallways leading to the dressing rooms and lockers. On the floor, right outside a door with the placard 'White Tiger', a group of civilians and spellbreakers (Colt included) gathered around a fallen man in a security uniform.

It wasn't the heavy set grunt Spike and Cian had duped before. Likely, it was his boss. Spike froze to the spot. When it came to general knowledge, he was sorely lacking (most of the time), but his impulsive nature had its benefits...namely, jumping into action when needed. But now, there was nothing he could do. Nothing to life. Nothing to break. 

Still, after several months of working alongside some of the most talented magi and non-magi alike, Spike had learned to stand back and trust the capabilities of his peers. Shit, I knew I should have taken LiuLiu's first aid training course. 

The young woman in Colt's entourage, her double braids now pulled back behind her, administered CPR. Her face was focused, serene, controlled. Nobody but Kengo dared interrupt her. Opposite her, Spike's enormous roommate knelt and offered direction. Of all the people spellbreakers present, he was the most qualified to lend support. He looked towards Spike, but his eyes moved to the person coming up behind him.

"Grant!" Iggy gasped, as a stagehand threw out an arm to stop them from advancing. Iggy glared at them, but relented.

Before Spike could ask how Iggy knew the security guard, the young woman tilted her head up. "This isn't normal cardiac arrest. This was magickally induced. The magick has run its course, thank Goddess, but we need to defib. Now."

Spike thought to volunteer to fetch whatever she needed, but before he did, a loud, "WAIT," stopped him to the spot. All eyes went to Colt, presiding over the drama.

The young woman looked at him, her facial expression changing several modalities in rapid time. "Of course..."

Though he was normally shy and tempered, Kengo was quick to act in a crisis. "We need an AED," Kengo said firmly to his boss."

"I am an AED," Colt snapped back. He motioned for everyone to step aside. "Unless y'all want a jolt, clear the area." Nobody questioned the storm magi, who was capable of conjuring electricity. Colt brushed back his long hair and leaned forward, opening the fallen security guard's shirt. He placed his hand on his chest, and closed his eyes.

"Tryin' to find out how much voltage he needs," Colt explained, softly. His commanding presence alone turned the tension down a notch or two. "Everyone's heart beats differently." He opened his eyes and moved one hand to just below the man's ribs. "Okay," he said, eyes momentarily flashing yellow. "CLEAR!"

The man on the guard bolted up, eyes wide open, and expectorated onto the ground in front of him. Everyone drew back in shock, but Colt kept control of the situation, taking the gasping, sputtering man back down to the ground and positioning him safely. 

Everyone holding their breath finally exhaled. 

"You're alright now," Colt said, soothing him. 

Even though he'd just quite literally come back from the brink, Grant forced himself to speak. "Don't know..." He pointed to the dressing room. "Someone was in there...wasn't supposed to be."

"Just relax," Colt said. He looked over his shoulder, at White Tiger, still in his spellbreaking gear, coming up from the other end of the hall.

"Medics are here," he said. 

Colt's arched his shoulders. The shift between soothing father and angry thunder god was sudden. "What took them so Goddess-damned long!"

"They were attending to a false call at the other end of the casino," Joseph said. He narrowed his eyes.

For a second, Spike thought Joseph was throwing Colt's anger back in his face, but that wasn't it. He looked between the two men. Whatever silent telepathy he and Colt exchanged, it was serious and in agreement.

"Damn it..." Colt said. "That's mighty sus."

On the floor, Grant winced. "The big guy in the gold mask...I just assumed he was one of your guys..." He pointed to the opposite corridor where, presumably, this person had been standing.

"Is that the guy who did this to you?" Colt asked. At the end of the hall, a thunder of footsteps announced the coming of the medical staff.

"No," Grant choked.

Kengo looked at Colt with great concern, worried the strain might hurt the guard further, but Colt held up a hand. "No. Let him talk. He's a tough one, aren't ya Mr. Partridge?"

The kind words elicited a weak smile from the struggling guard. "He told me someone snuck into Tiger's room..." Grant said through his teeth. He was saturated with sweat, and his dark skin was pallid gray. "Didn't have time to argue. Someone was in there. I went for my gun. And then..." he strained. It was easy to figure out the rest. Whoever was in there was quicker, and they didn't need bullets. "Just...one touch."

Now, it was Marcy and the woman with the sunflower pendant who shared the knowing glance.

Spike, hands to his mouth in shock, stood back and let the professionals take command. His ears only perked him at Iggy muttering under their breath, right beside them.

"Just like my dressing room earlier..." the pink-haired spellbreaker said. "Something's not right here..."

The white-robed medical magi attended to Grant, dismissing everyone else. Colt's edict was for all assembled to take five, leaving Cian, Spike, and Kengo sitting on an upholstered bench out in the lobby, where attendees lingered for the last call at the bar. It was only for the look on the three young fighter's faces that prevented any fans from coming up to offer a congratulatory word or ask for an autograph. They didn't say much of anything to each other.

"I'll get us some water," Spike finally said, uncomfortable with the tense silence, and tired of feeling useless besides. He walked over to the concession area, but his eyes caught sight of a familiar face, standing just to the side. The young woman's hands clutched to her chest in deep worry.

The girl in lace and the sunflower pendant looked over at Spike. Her expression changed. Serene. Composed. Friendly.

"Hey there," she said.

Despite everything that had just happened, Spike couldn't help but smile. "Hey. I'm Spike." He wanted to add, are you Colt's girlfriend? But this wasn't the appropriate time.

"Nice to meet you," she said. "Sorry for not introducing myself earlier. I'm Lily. I've known Colt for a long time, if you were wondering. And Marcy is a friend as well. That was an impressive match of yours, earlier tonight."

"Oh." Spike turned red and looked away. "Impressively embarrassing, you mean."

"Hahaha, not at all." The young woman placed her hands behind her back. "Iggy is an interesting one. We Light magi don't normally lend our magickal talents to combat, but we can be tough as hell, you know."

"Well, I know now." A Light magi? Odd. She wasn't a spellbreaker. Certainly didn't look the typical fan either, though Spike knew better than to stereotype.

Before Spike could follow up, Lily lowered her voice. "You didn't happen to notice anything odd in you dressing room tonight either, did you?"

"You think I'm at the level were I'd have a dressing room?" Spike balked. But he shook his head. This wasn't the time to be a brat. "No. Not really. Iggy—the jerk who kicked my ass—said something about their room getting messed with too. Do you think...someone was trying to break in?"

Lily placed a finger to her lips. She had a way of thinking deeply before speaking, a concept very foreign to Spike. "I suspect that's exactly what happened. And I don't think it was a robbery attempt either."

"You'd have to be pretty stupid to try and rob a giant, buff, magickally enhanced fighter," Spike added, trying to be helpful.

"Or very powerful and confident in your abilities." 

"Hmm. That's true." He was out of his depth, he knew. But something about all of this did bother him deeply, and not just tonight's incident. "Lily, I'm still kinda' new to spellbreaking. But there's been a lot of weird accidents happening lately."

She looked into his eyes. "Any common threads you've noticed?"

"I wish I could pick up one. But..." Spike scratched his head and winced. "I'm not the most observant dude in the world." Then, it hit him. "I mean, this is going to sound a bit silly seeing as their whole thing is being the bad guys, but Firebird Pro was here tonight and the night of this gala when—"

"Madame Zorn," Lily said, finishing his thought. "Yes, Colt told me. That's part of the reason why I'm here."

"Oh. Are you like...a detective?"

"Ha!" She smiled. "A detective of a sort, you could say. I study magick. Specifically, glyphs. And what you said about Firebird....hmmmm. Have you heard of Occam's Razor?"

"That the finishing move of some spellbreaker named Occam?"

Lily laughed, but the gravity of the situation returned to her. "So, it's the idea that the simplest theory is often the most plausible. What do we know of Firebird? Shady characters, for certain. And their president has his hands in all sorts of weird, Russian military stuff."

"Yeah, but dropping chandeliers on old rich ladies and trying to kill security guards...doesn't make sense." Spike's head hurt. He was already exhausted, and this much brain power and stress wasn't normal for him.

"Correct," Lily said. "So the question remains, 'Why'? That's what I'm trying to puzzle out. But, in regards to what happened tonight, I think whoever was in Joseph's dressing room was intending to do to him what they did to Mr. Partridge, but worse. And had Grant not been alerted by this spellbreaker in the gold mask, or whomever, they might have succeeded."

Spike felt himself go pale. That was a terrible thought. He still wasn't 100% sure what this girl Lily's deal was, or her involvement with Colt and the GSA, but she seemed like someone trustworthy. He really wished he could help her more.

"I should get going," she started, turning away. "I didn't mean to distress you."

"Wait," Spike said. He'd just remembered something. "That security guard said something about a guy in a gold mask. Sounded like he could be a luchador? I mean, who the hell else where's a mask like that? But there's no one on the card tonight who wore a mask."

"Hmmm." Lily looked off into the distance. Whatever her thoughts, she did not share them. "Las Vegas is a lot. I need sleep. Have a good night, Spike." She turned to walk away. "Oh, and can you say hi to Buck for me?"

Confused, but happy to have met someone nice, Spike smiled. "Sure thing."

Chapter 11: Iggy Astro's Zodiac Attack!

Camera flashes reflected back by Iggy Astro's night-black sunglasses were bright, but his cutting grin shined brighter. The spellbreaker's affect and demeanor was cold and untouchable, like the distant reaches of space, whilst all around them Las Vegas' 'finest reporters' peppered them with incessant queries.

A swarm of microphones jutted out into their face, like the obscene protrusions of lesser men who thought they could score with the 'Human Supernova'.

"Iggy Astro, what do you think about the new dangers of atomic energy?"

"Iggy, what's your opinion of the Tsar taking advantage of the power vacuum left behind by the collapse of the Alban Empire?"

"Is it true you're dating fellow spellbreaker, El Amante? Do you fear a non-traditional relationship might upset the conservative market?"

"Iggy Astro, the public needs to know—boxers or briefs?"

Iggy's pink-painted lips turned upward in a half-snarl. He held up a black-manicured hand, commanding silence. "Thank you. Your questions bore me. Las Vegas' journalistic integrity is lacking." They scrunched up their nose. "And one of you smells like chicken soup."

The rockstar-turned-fighter really just wanted to turn around and retreat to their dressing room, their sanctum, and shut these idiots out. These weren't hard working truth tellers, but all corporate leeches, parroting irrelevant questions. Of course Iggy had honest answers for all of them, answers he chose to withheld. Atomic energy would ensure a more environmentally sustainable future. The Tsar was a fool clinging to a bygone power, like all tyrants before him (and any child of the Enchanted Revolution in Brazil keenly would agree). And if the concept of two male assigned people in love turned the stomachs of the spellbreaking fandom, then maybe they didn't deserve this sport to begin with!

But to throw these hounds a bone wouldn't be keeping with Iggy's character, and wasn't life (and spellbreaking) all about performance? 

A clean-shaven pencil necked reporter somehow shoved their way to the front of the line. Iggy, in a purple leather jacket with studded shoulder pads, sighed and motioned for them to speak.

"Iggy Astro," the little geek said, "there's been talk that a representative from the Institute of Glyphic Studies will be in the audience tonight. Many would say you're one of the most powerful light magi around..."

"Damn right about that," Iggy spat. Hmm. Suarez is here, eh? Heh. Looks like I will put on a show after all. The elusive researcher in question was a friend to spellbreakers, as well as one of the few souls outside the sport that Iggy genuinely respected.

"Would you say there's any merit in spellbreaking when it comes to glyphic research?" the nerd followed up.

Iggy flicked the stupid query away as if it were a bothersome fly. "Without a doubt. We elevate the power. We're not just athletes and performers, but expert weilders of magick as well. Got it?

"Just one more question, then, if you would! A lot of people are saying Sailorboy Spike is the next biggest thing in spellbreaking. How do you feel about your fight against him tonight?"

!!!

Iggy smirked. With an elegant wave of their hand, they conjured a neon blue stick figure resembling a little sailor man—if one squinted hard enough that is. Iggy, sticking his (very longue) tongue out, grabbed the figure by its neck and bit its head off in one swift motion! A geyser of neon red blood spray covered the shocked and disgusted reporters, who promptly backed off.

But, just to drive the message home, Iggy grabbed the little twerp 'journalist' by the neck and raised him several feet off the ground. Admittedly, the spellbreaker enjoyed watching the idiot's feet flailing and kicking, as if he thought he could escape!

"THAT'S what I think of this little sailor boy," Iggy growled in the struggling man's face. "Thousands of years ago, a meteor ended almost all life on this planet. And TONIGHT, THIS star is going to make the Sailorboy EXTINCT."

He dropped the red faced, choking man before he could do any personal damage. That was enough to force the reporters retreat. Iggy, legitimately annoyed, recomposed themselves with a glitter-producing hairflip. 

Turning to enter their dressing room, Iggy cleared their throat and looked coquettishly over his shoulder. "Oh, and and to answer your question...thongs, darling. Thongs. Who do you even think I am?

With that, Iggy shut the door on all the useless noise behind them.

 

"A meteor ended the life of the dinosaurs?" Iggy said to their own reflection, incredulously, as they applied a generous helping of eyeline. "Me Deusa, that was a bad line..." 

In his pink, velvety dressing room, Iggy Astro sighed, staring at the hunk in the reflection, stroking the mirror like Narcissus beginning to question his self worth. "My sweet, beautiful self, where has all the passion gone? The lyricism? What is the point of all this folly!" He tossed his makeup down in a rut, and buried his face in his arms, exhaling deeply (and dramatically) into the linoleum countertop.

For three years, Iggy Astro's spellbreaking rise had been...well...meteoric. Now, however, Iggy was beginning to feel like a star burning out. It had been ages since he'd faced a worthy opponent, let alone an interesting one. These days, he felt like a trained fight-dog, being thrown meat and scraps by Colt the 'Bolt'. 

But where was the art? Where was the collaboration? The passion? All these silly little boys and girls Iggy had fought recently had their heads up their own asses, just trying to get ahead in their career. They were beige. He was pink. At this point, he would gladly settle for a chartreuse, or electric orchid, or even a navy blue!

Perhaps I was naive thinking this would be any different than the music industry, Iggy lamented as they absently turned the neck of the champagne bottle sticking out of the ice bucket. The only thing this career had given them recently—though granted it was a pretty nice prize—was a longtime partner. But El Amante was perpetually busy, and a lover of many. Their relationship was infinitely complex, and Iggy was not defined by it. 

There was, of course, the option of going back to Brazil and getting Vanity Paradise back together, but that would mean upending life all over again. And that sounded rather exhausting. 

"I just feel like I'm not doing anything meaningful with my life!" Iggy groaned operatically, arguing with an invisible audience. "Sure, I could probably become champion. But what's the point? I'm not doing anything to advance this sport, or my own art. Hmmm..." they looked at themselves. "Perhaps I need a protégé? Hmmm. HMMM...."

Though Iggy would never vocalize it, he was dreading tonight's match. More of the same song and dance. Go out there, be a delicious snack for the audience, break some underwear model's arms and make them cry, be a dick. Sure, there was always room to interject a little bit of melody into the affair, but Colt—bless his extraordinary, cowboy bulge—had asked Iggy to 'turn down' the rock and roll aspect of his performance. 

It's a fight, Astro, not a damn rock concert!

Iggy grit his teeth together and squeezed his fist down on his lipstick tube. That bossy cowboy. Turn it down? Nobody tells me to turn it down! If anything, Iggy Astro only turns it UP. TO ELEVEN! Gahhhh, if he wasn't such a juicy piece of Texas BBQ, I'd....I'd...

He sighed. He couldn't even complete an internal monologue! Perhaps he'd take his frustrations out on that prettyboy pinup tonight. A good punching bag always hit the spot, no? Still, there was something about that stupid little sailor twink that Iggy couldn't put their deliciously manicured finger on... 

Annoyed with their 'spellbreaker's block', Iggy clapped their hands. "Inspiration! Now!" They turned to their record player on the table. Iggy's runner always specified 2 - 3 of the same records in every dressing room. Though their musical appetites were voracious, Iggy was still a creature of habit, and he always had the old favorties close at hand. Iggy pulled the record out of its sleeve and placed it on the player. He dropped the needle.

The velvety, slightly distant, ethereal voice of Astrud Gilberto crooned out of the machine. "Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars..."

A sea of tranquility washed over Iggy. He leaned back and let the sound of guitars carry him away on its moonlit waves. Old faces, old places, returned to the forefront of his memories. His father, slicing up oranges on a hot, summer day. Mother, in the study, grading papers and complaining about her students or the government. The radio on in the background. A samba on the sea breeze. Yet, beneath the music, a frequency only his parents could hear—their ears ever listening for a breaking news update portending to disaster. Another revolt. Another coup. More fire. It was, after all, from the literal fires of revolution that Iggy—once Inácio, now Ináci—was born.

A knock at the door threw Iggy out of their daydream. "Who dares?" they shouted dramatically, glaring at the door. "Hmph."

The friendly face of a balding, stocky security gaurd smiled back at them. "Sorry, just saw this was open and wanted to make sure it was closed." The dark skinned man smiled graciously at them.

Weird. I thought I shut that. "I see," Iggy sniffed. 

"Say, is that the Astrud Gilberto cover?"

Iggy raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"

The guard seemed like the dowdy family man sort, the kind that Iggy absolutely loathed. But there was a youthfulness and light in his eyes. "I thought it might be," he said. "I love that one. I know people hold Sinatra sacred, but I think I prefer her take on it better."

Iggy shook his head in disbelief. They scanned the gaurd's aura, finding a cool electricity there among the gentle colors. He was good. 

"Well...finally, someone with good taste." Iggy turned his body, willing to engage. "It's my mother's favorite."

"My wife's," the man said, chuckling. He nodded affably, but minded not to cross into the room. "I'm Grant Partridge. Head of security. Let me know if you need anything."

Iggy cocked their head to the side. It was always the most unlikely souls that he enjoyed most. "Will do," he said sincerely. And though it was not exactly becoming of a badguy spellbreaker... "Thank you for looking out for us, Mr. Partridge. You do good work."

"Just doing my job," the humble man said. "Have a good match, cousin." He closed the door behind him.

Iggy stared at the shut door for a few seconds, certain he'd closed it behind him to rid themselves of those annoying reporters. He shrugged and turned around. The song ended. The vibe was off. Iggy, lusting for inspiration, sighed anew. Speaking of auras, one of Iggy's seldom used talents, that Spike characters was all over the place. When Iggy had observed them outside the Dionysus Lounge, playing boyscout to a dancer who clearly didn't need a muscle twink to defend her honor, Iggy had taken the opportunity to scan their spiritual luminosity. Spike's soul was a sea of constantly undulating greens and blues, someone who was not yet set in their ways, who did not yet know themselves. There were flecks of orange there too, like the embers of a new fire. A surprisingly strong light for someone who didn't seem as if there was a lot going on up top. They were like a parcel wrapped in delicious mystery. 

And Iggy would enjoy peeling it back, tonight. They licked their lips. "Sex and fighting. Two great ways to get to know a man. I will smash that little beefcake open and see how they tick." Turned on by the sight of himself acting cocky, Iggy flexed his chest muscles for himself in the mirror. "I wonder if there will be anything left of them to put back together! Hahahahaha! Oh, we have fun, don't we, Iggy..."

His eyes suddenly fell on a newspaper—opened onto the daily horoscope page. He had been lazily reading it earlier, hoping for some good cosmic vibes under the sign of the ever-shifting scales. 

Ah, the zodiac. The most noble of all the constellations. I daresay it is foolish to think that the stars might hold our destiny, and yet, one cannot help but... 

Suddenly, the closed-fist of the muse struck him up the side of the head. They had been knocked dizzy with inspiration!

Iggy grabbed the newspaper, scanned it for meaning, and placed it down. A wicked grin crossed their lips, as they turned dramatically to face their own reflection.

"Oh, but what dark portents do the stars have for you, my delicious Sailorboy." They laughed evilly. "Your destiny is not written in the skies, Spike, but in the blood I will draw from your gaping wounds! Hehehehe. Oh, I'm such a bitch..."

The Kiss of El Amante Intóxico! Part 2 - Love's Avenger

"IT'S SNIP SNIP TIME! HAHAHAAHA!"

With his tongue lolling out of his mouth like a rabid dog, and shears snapping maniacally in the air, El Peluquero walked the ring, hungry to sink his scissors into his opponent's hair. Wrist tapped and clad in red and black tights, he eyed the bag of barber tools—razors, electric shavers, an assortment of other scissors—nestled up to his corner post. The thought of unleashing his little goodie bag on an unconscious, defeated, and humiliated El Amante Intóxico practically made him hard!

The crowd in the humid El Paso auditorium had gathered to see El Amante challenge Peluquero. Even though it was a last-minute card, the event had filled up so quickly that an impromptu barbeque had been set up outside the back for all the fighters and attendees. It was smaller venue, to be sure, but the atmosphere was positive. But Peluquero would have never chosen such a backwater dump if it didn't mean getting to humiliate his pretty boy nemesis in front of all of his adoring fans!

El Amante's fans, who he affectionally called his "Lovers", booed loudly at El Peluquero, but nobody shook their first harder at him than Icarus, his most recent victim (and one of El Amante's pupils). He had since covered up his forced buzz-cut with a blue cap. He had chosen a white button up and blue pants, a modest outfit in keeping with his upstanding and polite character. Several older women in the audience nodded to him in approval, wishing he could be their son or nephew.

Iggy, wearing a tight fitting, pink crop top with the big, black 'C*M SLUT' across the chest, yawned. They were more interested in the greasy bag of churros they'd bought earlier (they had scalped an El Amante fan outside by selling him one of his used night shirts, and so felt inclined to a little treat).

"Wanna see me fit a whole churro into my mouth?" Iggy asked, holding up a big stick of cinnamon. He winked at Icarus.

The baby-faced fighter grinned awkwardly. "Er...no thanks?"

"Boring." Iggy deep-throated the delicious confection in one bite. They tossed their dyed, pink hair back over their shoulder. "You excited to see my hunky boyfriend make an ass of himself on your behalf, pipsqueak? Ah, but what an ass it is..."

"I will always support my mentor!" Icarus said, proudly. He looked at the bag in Iggy's hands. His stomach rumbled. "Um..."

"What? Good little doggy want a treat?" Iggy dangled the churro just over Icarus' head, tantalizing him with the promise of sugar and fat. With zero hesitation, Iggy stuck out his (distractingly long) tongue and licked the stick up and down, sexually, before holding it out to Icarus. "You still want it?"

Without missing a beat, and maintaining eye contact all the while, Icarus leaned in and bit the tip of the churro, snagging the rest before Iggy could pull it away. 

Iggy blinked. "...Oh meu Dea!" they exclaimed, hand to their chest and jaw open in amused shocked. He gave his annoying sidekick a flirty glance. "I think I'm actually starting to like you, good doggy."

"The feeling is mutual. Now, let's watch my teach kick this bad doggy's tail!"

Iggy and Icarus fist bumped in agreement.

Back in the ring, El Peluquero stretched his arms across the ropes, tugging and bracing like a vicious animal tethered to the post. "My scissors hunger for the hair of El Amante Intóxico! Where is the boytoy!? I wanna BREAK HIM!"

"Looking for me, chulo?"

The villain's loud challenge was drowned out by a steamy, sensual, reggaetón beat and an accompanying change of light. Soft pink and purple tones breezed over the audience, and even the mood in the room altered from tense excitement to indulgent desire. From out of a rainfall of translucent rose petals, a dashing—and physically imposing—silhouette materialized at the entrance arch. 

El Amante Intóxico, a warrior with many epithets, stood tall and proud. The Warrior of Love. The Violet Scorpion. The King of Romance. Victor. Whatever the name, the muscular hero, caped in rich fabrics of vermillion, citrine, and turquoise, bowed deeply to the crowd, stretching his hands out likewise as if to embrace the affection returned to him. The tecnico luchador rose from the ground and walked the aisle, high fiving and shaking hands with his beloved supporters. A blown kiss knocked over a trio of female fans with the force of a gale-force wind. A wink in the direction of a male admirer caused him to pass out on the spot. Such was the potency of El Amante's power!

"Hello, beautifuls," the masked stud said to the camera as it swivelled around his luxurious form, still concealed within the folds of his robes. Behind, the camera man swallowed and became instantly erect.

In-ring, El Peluquero scowled and spat at the ground. How dare this nuisance strut around and preen like a peafowl, wasting his time, delaying the inevitable? He would be shaved bald for such insolence! 

El Amante Intóxico politely wiped his boots on the ring apron before sliding slowly, and sensually, through the ropes. After another dramatic 'kneel-and-bask', El Amante stood and tore off his fantastic robe.

GASP!

Speaking of peeling off, the audience peeled off into screams and moans, watching the buff, muscular, and oiled-up El Amante strut his stuff. He turned and danced in step with the music. A little two-step here. A bit of male revue there. A whole lotta' bachata. El Amante wove it all into an erotic display of masculine beauty and physicality. His thrusts weren't the juvenile jack hammerings of a selfish lover, but a gentleman who knew how to please his lovers.

For that was the secret (or at least, one of many secrets) and Love's Champion. His was no gimmick. Seduction was his sword, and compassion his shield. He wasn't in this fight for pride or ego, but to right a wrong done to someone he cared for deeply.

Plus, his lover was there to watch him look good kicking ass!

El Amante stopped and cupped his ear to the audience, motioning for them to give him more love. They gladly did so, in abundance. In return, El Amante pivoted around, jiggled his (distractingly large) glutes, bent over, and tore off his pants.

In the audience, Icarus clapped one hand over his mouth, looked down at his lap, and cupped the other somewhere more urgent. "Oh..." 

"Get used to it, kittne," Iggy said, trying to hide the fact that he was madly in lust. 

"Wait, is it doggy or kitten? Can you be consistent?"

Iggy looked over Icarus, before he pulled him into a headlock, kissed his face, and whispered into his ear as Icarus struggled to breathe. "It's whatever I want it to be, twink. Got it? Now, watch the show."

"H-h-harder."

Again, Iggy's expectations were thwarted. He let Icarus go. "Heh. Maybe later."

As El Amante flexed and preened for his watchful many, Peluquero stood back and growled. Only he appeared immune to El Amante's charms. In fact, he snarled and foamed at the mouth even harder. How dare this little sissy get all this attention! 

But that killer body... 

No! Peluquero shook the very thought from his dark mind.

El Amante's trunks were coordinated with the colors of his robe and mask, a butterfly design. He made sure the audience got a good look when he teasingly circled around and began to pull his trunks down—in a strip a tease—showing off his lucky red thong, giving the audience behind him a hint of his bare, bubble butt. Just a hint. 

"I gave him that for his birthday," Iggy whispered in Icarus's ear.

"You can't be a total villain then," the younger luchador said, tugging on his collar to release steam.

"Just doing the Goddess' work, kitten."

The dowdy, pot-bellied ref—who had been watching at a safe distance—finally approached El Amante for the pat down. El Amante allowed it, but not before striking a seductive pose in the corner, complete with a rose in his mouth (...nobody had noticed where or whence he had produced the flower)

As soon as the ref was satisfied (he had been chosen as one of the few refs in the area who could put up a resistance to El Amante's powers) the gracious luchador plucked the rose from his mouth and offered it to the ref.

The older gentleman looked at it for a moment. "Oh...that's...nice of you?" He did, however, politely accept the gift, before walking off to the center of the ring.  "Nobody's given me flowers in so long. How thoughtful!"

El Peluquero approached his prey with a fiendish hunger. He licked his lips, sizing up the luchador's long, luxurious hair, hanging tantalizingly over his massive pectorals. "Look at that stupid, girly mask!" he spat. "What, too scared that I'd snip-snip your precious family heirloom?"

El Amante crossed his arms, giving the photographers his 'signature' pose. He would spare El Peluquero his attention when he was good and ready. "Hmph! I have no fear of wearing the mask of my father, and his father before him. Nor do I fear anything womanly—for there is no shame in being a woman! Besides, I prefer pretty accessories. Soft things look good on such a hard body, no?" 

El Amante leaned towards his opponent, flexing gracefully in a bodybuilder's posing sequence, turning each time to a different quadrant of the room, which likewise exploded into cries of excitement (as well as more...intimate reactions). 

First, the arms--bulging biceps, triceps, and shoulders.

"I am from a proud line of fighting men, who have known both heroism and villainy, hope and despair!" 

Next, the back. Rippling like a stormy sea.

"This mask you see was created by the son of one of the greatest spellbreakers ever known! And was fabricated by none other than my talented cousin, who shares the spellbreaking legacy of my family!" 

The legs followed: quads, thighs, calves, that would make lovers and foes alike tremble to behold.

"Friends. Family. They are whom I hold most precious, and whom I will always protect! I draw power from them!" 

And finally, the pecs. BUT! El Amante didn't just give the crowed a simple pec bounce and flex. Oh no. He wowed them with a full-on climactic, orgasmic 'most muscular pose' set, which culminated in El Amante roaring and sticking his tongue out like an Aztec warrior of yore.

"Just as the scorpion sheds its skin, so too does the caterpillar become the butterfly. I am El Amante Intóxico, Love's Champion! I transform despair into love, and love into strength!"

At this point, those with heart conditions had already left the room on advisement of the production staff, with little old ladies and aunties collapsing in the aisle, swooning in deep adoration. The venue had to crank up the AC just to keep the room temperature down! Hardy men fainted, or otherwise found their sexualities changed in an instant, with complete and total acceptance of themselves (for that is what El Amante would want). In the rapturous and frenzied lust brought on by El Amante's flexing spree, two soccer players in the back of the audience immediately pounced on each other and began making out, madly confessing their unrequited love for each other (they would go on to be married in months. El Amante would received a lovely card and bouquet for his efforts).

"Yeah he does this sometimes," Iggy said nonchalantly to nervous Icarus. The light magi crumpled the empty churro bag into a little ball. I should put bird boy here to good use and have him fetch me some more.

The bell had already rung, but both luchadors were happy to take their time sizing each other up and otherwise intimidate the other. The magnanimous and magnificent El Amante took a gentlemanly knee in front of his opponent. He held out a single-stemmed rose (again, nobody knew how it had suddenly appeared it in his hand) to his opponent.

"A token of sportsmanship," El Amante said with bright, watery eyes. "We may be opponents, but that does not mean we cannot be amigos!" He cocked his head slightly to the audience. "Or perhaps...something more?"

The audience cheered. "Take the rose! Take the rose! Take the rose!"

El Peluquero pointed innocently at his chest. "F-f-for me?" he said, looking at the audience for approval. He scratched the back of his head, shyly, and took the flower in his hands...

Before shoving the rose blossom into his mouth and biting down on the stem! The mad dog Peluquero chewed up the generous gift and then SPAT rose petals right on El Amante's handsome, masked face.

The audience gasped at the unsportsmanlike display. But nobody gasped more than Iggy Astro. "Oh no!" they whispered. Then, their face contorted with sadistic mischief. "Or should I say, 'Oh yes?'"

"What?" Icarus asked them dumbly. "He just...spat it out into teach's face?"

"Your 'teach' has his limits, doggy. He prizes honor and compassion. And now...he has been crossed." Iggy shivered. "Oh, I cannot wait to see my big stud put the hurt on this fool!"

Patient, and without taking his eyes off his opponent, El Amante wiped the saliva-soaked petals off his face. He stood.

Peluquero pointed and laughed. "HAHAHA! What a sap! What a moron! Oh, you think you're scary trying to tower over me? EAT MY FIST!" 

The long-haired dastard shot a lightning-quick punch aimed right for El Amante's aquiline nose, an attempt to break it off and disfigure his foe. Nobody could dodge a punch like that, not even El Amante!

And he didn't.

Because he caught it instead.

Peluquero stared in wide-eyed horror, trying to free his hand from El Amante's iron grip. The blank-eyed luchador's face remained unchanged as he tightened down harder. Peluquero heard his knuckles start to crack. He grimaced.

"I shall transform your pride into humility!" El Amante shouted. "You cannot hope to defeat love!" 

He dragged the barbarous barber's meaty forearm forward and dropped to his knees, picking him up in a fireman's carry. Peluquero didn't even have time to react, finding himself spinning on El Amante's shoulders and then tossed through the air like a sack of garbage.

SLAM! 

El Amante went for a rope dash, bouncing off with graceful fluidity. He would plant an elbow of love and justice on the evildoer's face or chest (El Amante would figure out which when he got there...)

But Peluquero tougher that El Amante suspected. He dove out of the way at the last minute, allowing the luchador lunk to hit the canvas and hit his elbow painfully on the hard surface! El Amante cried out, just as his rival got back onto his feet.

"Idiot!" Peluquero snarled, kicking El Amante's head, rattling his brain. The audience reacted likewise. Music to the bad barber's ears!

Still, El Amante shook it off, making a stunning recovery. He struck a confident pose, earning him more of the audience's favor, recharging his power. "That all you got, villain?"

Out in the crowd, El Amante's studious sidekick applauded for his teacher. "This is a good show," he said to his mentor's lover.

"My matches are much more interesting," Iggy pouted, haughtily. "But...I do not deny that my masked man is a stellar performer." They winked. "In a ring, or a in a bedroom."

Chest slicked with sweat, and matted, curly hair sticking to his collar bone, Peluquero blew a stray lock from his face. He shook with fury. "Time to step into my barber shop, prettyboy," he seethed. "Let's give you a complimentary shave!"

El Amante's eyes darted towards the villain's bag of tricks propped up against the corner post. It moved, opening of its own volition. A series of objects shot out from the top like bullets, faster than El Amante's eyes could follow. They soared through the air, coming to a circular orbit around their master's head. A straight razor. Another pair of scissors. And...was that a surgical knife too!? The sharp bladed glinted in the ringside lighting, matching the cutting grin of their owner.

"A metal user!" El Amante declared. "How exciting!"

"That studly bod of yours ain't gonna look so pretty once it's cut into ribbons!" Peluquero laughed evilly. He sent out his blades, shooting through the air like arrows. "What's loverbody gonna do now? Oh, that's right. BLEED!"

El Amante knew some basic boxing techniques, and his footwork was excellent by virtue of having been a dancer. He dodged the first knife with expert precision, earning him an "OOH!" from the audience. The scissors, snapping like the jaws of an alligators, darted right for his eyes. El Amante flipped back and bridged—indirectly showing off his amazing bulge as he did. He recovered, stood, and blew his opponent a kiss.

He did not like the way Peluquero was still smiling...

SHICK!

The pain was sudden and sharp--hitting El Amante just as he realized his error. The metal user's blades could be retracted back at their user's commands. As El Amante turned to avoid the straight razor, the knife dug deep into his bulky shoulder. A spray of blood—violet in the soft pink aura surrounding the luchador—splashed the mat.

The assault didn't stop there! The barber tools swarmed El Amante like angry bees, diving in and slicing at his flesh with each successive strike. It was a death by a thousand little cuts! The perfect sadistic torture. 

Iggy and Icarus leaned forward in distress. "No!" 

"Enough spilt blood," El Peluquero started, "and you'll pass out! And then...your pretty hair will by all mine!" He stepped forward and demanded the ref go to his opponent's side to ask him if he wanted to to throw the fight! Passed out or awake for the humiliation, the luchador's hair would be his.

The ref glanced nervously at the blade swarm, a blur of silver and red. El Amante was in that swarm somewhere, on his knees, bracing and groaning against furious slashes.

"I'm not going in there," the ref said to the heel.

El Peluquero snarled and grabbed the middle-aged man by the collar, but he let go as soon as he realized he still needed him to call the match. "Fine!" he said, snapping his fingers.

The blades dropped to the ground, in a pool of violet blood. Hair draped over his head like a veil, El Amante trembled on hands and knees, dripping blood onto the mat. 

Peluquero drew close, ready to pin the cut-up hunk. 

But El Amante stood! As did the crowd likewise go to their feet to applaud. They shouted out words of encouragement to their icon.

The sweaty and bloody luchador dusted off their shoulder, as their wounds healed with the blessing of the soma elixir both fighters had taken before the match. "Pierce my flash and sunder my skin, foe. My blood runs red with passion!"

"How's he doing that?" Icarus asked Iggy, stupefied. "How could he withstand the pain and bloodless?" 

"Pure determination," Iggy said. He smiled. "That's my boyfriend."

"Geez, Iggy! If he could tame a heel like you, he could probably tame anybody, right?"

"Who said he tamed me, punk?" Iggy shot him a dark look, but retracted it. "Heh. You're his apprentice, so I'll let you on a little secret. I'm not really a villain you know. El Amante's ideals are in line with mine. To fight for that which you care and adore...there is no greater human endeavour. We make a good pair, him and I. For he is the guardian of love, and I am the guardian of beauty! I guess you could say we're the disciples of Venus!"

"Hey, that'd make a good tag team!"

"Hmph." Iggy gave it some thought. "Actually...credit where it's due, bicha, that's not a half-bad suggestion..."

Back in the ring, a shocked and (now scared) Peluquero took one step back.

"How...are you still standing?"

"What, you think your little scissors could tear down a hunk like me!" El Amante grinned and bounced his pecs up and down, in an almost hypnotic fashion. "You want scissors? I'll show you scissors!"

El Amante used the power of surprise to jump into the air and wrap his legs around El Peluquero's neck in an acrobatically impressive setup for a hurricanrana. Peluquero had no defense! With the sheer power of his tree-trunk legs, El Amante used the moment to flip his nemesis over and slam him down onto the mat. 

"Ugh, my neck." Peluquero shook his head, trying to recover. He needed to get away! Screw the rules! Peluquero rolled out beneath the bottom ropes and onto the floor to put distance between himself and his opponent.

"Where do you think you're going, bastardo!" El Amante pointed at the dazed brute struggling to get to his feet outside the ring. The luchador smiled. He turned a shoulder to the audience and made a 'heart' sign with his hands.

"This is..." Icarus said, realizing the setup. "He's gonna..."

El Amante pivoted on his boot heels and ran towards the ropes, bouncing off to get the momentum he needed. "Fly swift, Cupid's Arrow!" he said, diving through the ropes in a tope suicida, sailing through the air towards his target!

"What?" Peluquero said as he turned around just in time to see a missile of muscle careening towards him. "OH SH--"

WHAM!

A light show of rose petals and broken hearts burst forth from the dynamic collision. The blast force knocked Peluquero clear into the crowd. A group of angry uncles booed and covered the dizzy-eyed heel in their beer. Iggy, a few rows away, chucked his crumpled paper ball from the churro bag at the villain's head. He'd enchanted it too—upon contact, it planted a comical, glowing bullseye on his head.

El Amante, who had landed among the audience, stood up—towering over his admirers. In awe at this god among them, and unable to contain their lust, they began to claw and tap his beautiful butt.

"It's ok!" El Amante said to his admirers, winking. "You can touch El Amante!" He flexed for them, giving his fans what the wanted. Three separate hands began to paw and clamp down on his biceps, accompanied by gasps and moans of approval.

El Amante gave his admirers one final blown kiss before he looked over at his beer-soaked opponent , noticing the target. "What?" He recognized that light graffiti. He turned to give a disapproving look to his lover, a few rows away. Iggy whistled, pretending he hadn't done anything. 

El Amante sighed. "You heels are such trouble!" He reached down and grabbed the dizzy and delirious barber by the hair. He tossed him over the barricade as if he weighed nothing. El Amante climbed over in pursuit, stopping only to make sure the handsome daddy behind him got a very good look at the red thong strap sticking out of his muscle butt, before he hitched up his trunks and moved in on his enemy.

Peluquero sailed through the ropes and back into the ring, landing painfully on his back. El Amante wasn't just quick, but powerful too! And the more love and admiration he absorbed, the stronger he got!

"Do you feel the love now?" El Amante said, stepping over the ropes. He did another little strut for his audience, shaking his butt for the finish. "Do you see now, villain? I give everything to my admirers. The love they give back is precious. It fuels my being! Heh, it even fuels my muscles." El Amante flexed his bicep and gave it a kiss. "Mmm...peaky."

Sweaty hair fanned out around him on the mat, Peluquero tried to raise his head. He had been shaken up good. "You...damn...prettyboy!"

El Amante stepped over his downed opponent, boots planted on either side of him. He placed his hands on his hips and looked down. "Shall I finish you off? Perhaps I will not cut your hair off if you apologise nicely." He traced his pupil's aura—his 'love connection'—and found him among the audience like the brightest star in the night sky. He pointed. "Apologise now to that prince of the skies, whose beautiful hair you cruelly robbed!"

Icarus pointed to himself and mouthed, me?

Yes, you! El Amante mouthed back. He made his 'heart' hand gesture again. I love you!

Icarus' eyes rolled back in adoration. Next to him, Iggy's eyes also rolled back...out of annoyance.

"Take this!" Peluquero shouted, bolting up. He clawed the back of El Amante's trunks, hoping to get a solid grip and pull him down to his level. He'd wail on his stupid face until it was so puffy and bruised that it would bulge out of his mask's eye holes!

But Peluquero overshot his mark. Instead of pulling down El Amante, he pulled down his trunks instead. And not just halfway either. 'Lucky thong' and all came unfurling down faster than the lucahdor could catch. And that wasn't the only thing the audience section directly in front of El Amante saw unfurl...

The audience gasped, shocked at this display of nudity (which would be far too arousing to describe here). Then...something else happened. An entirely different type of crowd pop. For to behold El Amante in the peak of his activated power was a one way ticket to...

"OhhhHhhHHhhhhHHHH!!!!"

It was a pop alright. And El Amante's audience popped huge.

"Yeah, we're gonna need some towels in section C through J," a frazzled PA said into their headset as they darted past the ring. "Uhh...and a mop. Oh my goodness..."

Blushing, and genuinely embarrassed to see his love magick work too well on the crowd, El Amante tried turning around to hide his...power. "Oops," he said to the ref, shielding his eyes from El Amante's...glory.

Instead, El Amante accidentally revealed himself to the other side of the room, while those in the first section who had somehow avoided—'reacting' to El Amante's charms were now pushed past the limit from the sight of his beautiful, sculpted, wide, perfectly proportioned, unreal muscle ass.

The other section erupted (in multiple meanings of the word). This time, El Amante had the foresight to hitch up his thong and trunks. "Er...sorry, folks! Didn't mean to do that." Guess they got more than they paid for...

In any case, it was time to seal the deal and end this match. Before Peluquero could squirm away, El Amante dropped down and mounted him catching him by the throat.

"You..." Peluquero choked. "No, I will resist!" He expected his opponent to start choking him, or even break his trachea. Which was why he was surprised when the expected fear was instead overridden by a sudden wave of complete and total calm. He looked up into El Amante's soft, dark eyes.

And he could not hope to tear himself away.

Everything became soft pink and hazy. Peluquero's nose took in the smell of the sweaty El Amante Intóxico's cologne mixed in with his own masculine musk, his 'intoxicating' pheromones. Unable to help himself, Peluquero grew harder.

"Yes...chico. My love venom courses through you..."

That...luscious hair, he thought looking how perfectly El Amante's gorgeous, long locks tumbled over his heaving pectorals.

I wanna....put it in my mouth.

El Amante spoke softly to his opponent, even as he began to slowly position his arms around his throat and side of his head. "You are drunk on me now. I see into your soul, mi amor. A sad, scared little boy who grew up being the bad guy because he thought it would make him strong. To humiliate others and rob them of their beauty just so he could make himself feel more attractive." He winked. "Which is silly, because you aren't an ugly looking guy at all." He stroked Peluquero's chin with his hand.

A wave of pleasure welled up inside Peluquero. But more than that, he felt like he'd genuinely been complimented. Overcome with emotion, Peluquero's eyes teared up. "You...you mean it?"

"I am not a rudo, mi amor! I tell no lies." El Amante laughed softly, kissing the man's forehead. He bit his lip and then played with the rudo's hair. "Still I think you'd look good with...a little off the top?"

Peluquero felt himself as the precipice of ecstasy. "Oh, El Amante!" he moaned. 

"Kiss me, guapo." El Amante said, positioning his lips closer to Peluquero's face, his hands tighter around his throat and neck. "Surrender to El Amante!"

"No....I can't!" Peluquero tried to resist, reminding himself of his own reputation! To go from the villainous barber to one of El Amante's....boy toys. It would be a humiliating defeat, of the highest degree!

Plus, his hair...his beautiful, precious hair that all the babes loved to play with! He couldn't lose that!

"Mi amor..."

But then Peluquero, like Orpheus and so many other mythic fools before him, looked where he shouldn't—right back into El Amante Intóxico's bewitching eyes. Suddenly, defeat looked so much sweeter.

And those big, full, kissable lips...

Peluquero surrendered his mouth to El Amante's finding it completely covered by his opponent's. The luchador kissed soft, but firm. And deep. Peluquero felt his mask against his face, and the luchador's tongue exploring every inch of his mouth. El Amante, the warrior of love, would not let him go...nor breathe.

Peluquero didn't even object—not at first anyway—when he found a tightness around his throat and head, and his head begin to swim with dizziness as the bloodflow to his brain was slowly cut off.

It wasn't just a kiss. It was a kiss-of-death sleeper!

But El Amante would certainly take exception to that name. Because it was not to oblivion he consigned his foe, but to the realm of erotic reverie!

"Shhhh...." El Amante said, clamping down harder as he felt Peluquero's slightest resistance and struggled. "Let me take you to the land of sweet dreams. And then, I shall take your hair."

N-no, was all Peluquero could think, before he found his vision start to blur and his brain flooded with endorphins. He passed out. 

But El Amante always liked to keep on kissing...just to be sure. The ref leaned down for the three count. The bell rung. But El Amante kept the hold on. 

The ref cocked an eyebrow and scratched his bald head. "Hey...er....you done yet, big guy?"

With one final squeeze for good measure, El Amante pulled himself off. "Wow! What a kisser!" 

"Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz" Peluquero snored.

El Amante looked down at this unconscious, drooling opponent--who had a smile on his face. "Huh! He snores as loud as mi amor, Iggy Astro!"

"PUTO!" Iggy shouted from his seat in the audience. "I'll remember that!"

Finally, El Amante stood up to the sound of his theme music, doing a dance over his downed opponent, who twitched with pleasure in his deep slumber. It was another cheeky humiliation from the luchador of love, strutting and dancing over the KO'd evil-doer! El Amante happily bent over and pulled his trunks down, just a little, wiggling his butt inches away from the drooling loser's face. Too bad he wasn't awake to behold such beauty! To top it off, El Amante took a still-intact bud of the rose blossom he'd tried offering Peluquero earlier and gently stuck it between the villain's lips.

"Since you like the taste of my bud so much," El Amante said with a flirty wink.

Finally, El Amante motioned for the ref to hand him the tools of Peluquero's trade that he had so wickedly tried to use on love's champion. El Amante removed a sharp, but simple, pair of scissors. "Hmmm...seems easy enough. I don't have much cosmetology experience, but..."

Icarus turned to Iggy. "He's...not really going to cut his hair, is he?"

The pink-haired rockstar giggled devilishly. "He's going to teach him a lesson!"

The ref shrugged and exited the ring. As far he was concerned, his job was done. El Amante however, gleefully mounted his opponent's back as if Peluquero were a show pony. He yanked his chin up into position and went above snipping off the long locks, watching them fall to his shoulders and the canvas. He picked up a piece and held it under his nose.

"Hmm. You must tell me the name of your conditioner! Hehe. But something tells me that speech has failed you, lover."

When he was last done with his lopsided haircut, leaving Peluquelo's gorgeous mane a tangle of snarls and different sided chunks of hair, the luchador motioned for a smitten ringside staff member to set up a small, standing mirror in front of the fighters. Satisfied with that, El Amante pulled his KO'd opponent up beneath the arms.

"Is he gonna clutch him?" Icarus asked his minder.

"No," Iggy smirked. "Better."

El Amante repositioned himself so Peluquelo was cradled in his arms, with the luchador's massive legs tightly hooked around his waist. Now, it was much easier to see the size comparison between the buff tecnico and the wiry rudo. El Amante began to kiss at his sleepy opponent's neck, and his hands wander slowly down his obliques and abs, gentle caresses.

"That's it, mi amor. The sweetest dreams..."

Whatever the ruthless fighter was dreaming about, it looked good. His eyelids fluttered, and drool ran down his neck while his body twitched. El Amante's hands fastened themselves on Peluquero's stubby cock, as he began stroking him slowly and smoothly.

"There we go, badboy. I wonder what you dream of? Is it El Amante taking you, mounting you, making you his?"

"Nnn....ugggg..." Peluquero cried out in his erotic slumber, a moan escaping from his lips.

"Right on time," El Amante said. As the speed of his strokes increased, bringing his opponent to the edge of ecstasy, the powerful lover clamped his free hand down on the side of Peluquero's neck, giving him a wake-up nerve pinch.

"OHHhhh. El Amante. Papi, yes!"

El Peluquero's eyes flitted open as he reached the point of climax, inadvertently locking eyes with his humiliated, ridiculous haircut as he shot a fat, white load all over the image of himself looking first in rapture. His tights overflowed, stained, as he involuntarily surrender his seed. He stared helplessly, in red-faced, embarrassed horror, as he orgasmed to his own ridiculous appearance.

His "OHHHHhhhhs" quickly became a "Nooooooo!" Peluquelo looked down to see he had shot pearls of milky fluid all over the pile of clippings of his own beautiful hair. Utterly defeated and brutally humiliated, Peluquero—the once-proud terror—burst out into pathetic sobs.

The audience laughed at his predicament, while El Amante sat up and strutted around. "Justice is served!" El Amante declared proudly, flexing for the enjoyment of all.

"I'll show you!" Peluquero spat through the sobs. But he couldn't even get to his feet! Between the beatdown and the beating off, he was completely useless. "I'll come for you and your boy-toy's hair next! How dare you take my beautiful hair!"

"Oh?" El Amante said, raising an eyebrow. "You don't like it, amigo? How rude! I went through all that trouble cutting your hair and this is how you repay me?"

El Amante shoved Peluquelo's head between his thighs, before the man could hope to wriggle himself free. He hoisted him up, Peluquelo's face now buried—and covered completely—by El Amante's massive bulge.

"MMMFFFF!!!!"

"You are hardly a man!" El Amante declared, walking the swinging, suffocating rudo around the ring, completely emasculating the villain. He gyrated his hips, stripper-like, rubbing his revered bulge all over his opponent's face. "This is a man."

El Amante carried Peluquero over to the messy, sticky pile of hair, holding him above it. "I gave you your chance, villain. Your reign of terror ends here! No longer will you take beauty from this world. It's LIGHTS OUT FOR YOU!"

El Amante jumped into the air, with Peluquero's ridiculous head tucked between his thighs, and DROVE his cranium right into the pile of his own hair and cum. Between the blow to his spine, and the blow to his ego, El Peluquero's days of robbing promising young upstart's of their hair were over.

Love's champion had dealt his justice!