Bonus: Big in Japan

"Woah, look at that neat thing!"

"Robbie..."

The flashing signs of Shibuya hypnotized Robbie, lost in the enchanting blur of Tokyo's commercial district, its cross roads, and TV towers. Well-mannered businessmen ignored the rambunctious foreigner with the oversized muscles as he stopped to inspect any manner of ephemera that caught his attention. Including, as it were, the statue of Hachiko, a bronze Akita situated outside the station.   

"Hey, Coach, check this out! He's so cuuute!" 

Mr. Iron, who drew attention more than anybody else, had to bound over to keep up with his wayward ward. "Kid, you can call me John Henry," he panted. "Or Mr. Iron."

"Aw, but you're tottally coach to me, big dude!" 

Two high-school aged boys in uniform suddenly approached the two men. In perfect, polite English they asked, "Hey! Do you mind if we take your picture?" 

Robbie felt like a celebrity. "Aw, sure, dudes!" He put his arms around the guys, who seemed a bit afraid they might get squashed, with John Henry standing tall in the background.

"Oh, wait," one of the boys said, tipping the camera up. "Um...you mind if I use my glyph?"

Robbie found it odd to ask for permission, but nodded.

The boy smiled and willed his camera into the air, his own self-made tripod. 

"Now say poutine!" Robbie said, with a big grin.

Click.

The boy willed the camera back into his hands. "Thanks!"

"Hey, you're a metal user too," John Henry said to the lad. "Same as me!"

"Wow!" The kid looked star-struck. "Laurion is a pretty rare glyph here in Tokyo, surprisingly enough. I don't run into many other users here, and not too many foreigners. Thanks so much for the photo!" The boy and his friend bowed and then hurried off (presumably to school).

"Woah," Robbie gushed. "Tokyo is awesome. And the people are so nice. It's like...even putting Canada to shame."

"See what I meant about being kind of like ambassadors! Spellbreaking isn't just about fun. It brings the world together. I don't even know if those kids knew we were athletes. I think we just stand out."

Robbie laughed, take in by Tokyo's charms--he also felt, well, pretty at peace since the whole Paris incident. "Awww, I think these guys just know cool when they see it." He flexed his biceps, to make a point. Hey, but we should head to the temple to meet up with Colt and the others. And Yuki! Man, it's amazing running into an ice-magi here on the other side of the world. Like, back home we're a loon-a-dozen, but it's hard to find many outside the cold zones. Ugh, I miss Canada. I wonder if I should pick up a souvenir for my mom. She always sends stuff to the GSA, you know. I can even ask her to make you a dreamcatcher or send some her beadwork if you want. Huh, all this walking is making me hungry, bro..."

John Henry could barely keep up with Robbie's train of thought. "Heh. You are a very excitable fella."

"Er." Rather uncharacteristically of him, Robbie's cheeks tinged red. "Okay, you like...can't tell the others this, big bro, but...I have ADHD."

John Henry had been in the business this long to tell that Robbie was not exactly comfortable with disclosure. Which meant someone had made him feel awful about it at one point or another. And in this line of work, where any sign of vulnerability could make you a target, John Henry understood perfectly. 

"Thank you for sharing that with me, Robbie," John Henry said, with a kind smile. "You'll find most of us have more than one or two loose bolts in our engines. Why do you think we got into spellbreaking? Because we're well-adjusted?"

Robbie's brief dip into the duldrums turned right around, and he was all smiles and snow showers again. He punched John Henry in the arm, playfully. "Hahaha. See, this is why you're the best." Wincing, he nursed his sore knuckle. "Damn, bro, you really are made out of metal.

"I been hitting the gym more. And hey, I'm just glad to see Deadboy's influence isn't so strong on you now. You er...sorta' flew off the hockey stick back there in Paris."

The seasoned vet and the contender dipped down a more quiet side street (still bustling with activity by most definitions), passing izakayas, news stands, and snack stalls.  

Robbie pretended not to be bothered by how things had ended (really, before they had begun) with Cian Enbarr. "Aw, I don't even care about what's-his-name anymore."

"You mean, Cian!?"

"Where!?" Robbie said, his heart a flutter. He cringed. "Okay, maybe I still care a little..."

"You know, I think you do have a big heart. But a lot of guys think you're sort of a bully."

"What?" Robbie looked genuinely surprised (and offended). He rolled his eyes. "Ugh, nerds. Look, I'm just a tough guy. I'm not exactly a heel. But I don't like being nice to people unless they deserve it."

"You're sensitive, kid. Soft heart. Hard shell."

"GRRR! I'll show you sensitive," Robbie said, his first instinct to square up with John Henry.

The giant man looked down at him.

Robbie bit his lip. "Er...eventually. Once I get bigger! You'll be swoorry you challenged the Ice-Cold Killa', Robbie The Icewolf!"

Mr. Iron laughed, though without an ounce of venom. "I stand by my point. Kid, I think you're pretty decent, when you aren't riled up about something. Let me ask you something...what is it that gets to you?"

Robbie wasn't sure he understood the question. At first, anyway. Dark, wet eyes narrowing in deep contemplation, Robbie thought about how far he'd come as a spellbreaker...and how far behind he felt, still.

"It's like a mountain."

"Huh?"

"Fighting. Getting stronger. Working on being a better person." He sighed. "It's like...I put some effort into it, and then I look up and realize I'm still at the bottom of this giaaaant mountain, bro. You get it? Or am I being dumb?"

"You're being incredibly smart, kid. Maybe you're just hard on others because you're hard on yourself. And maybe...you're so obsessed with Cian because he represents something you want." The giant man scratched his bald head. "Er...hell if I know what that is though."

Robbie shrugged, following the colorful signs overhead to a small plaza adjacent to an even smaller park and playground. He always appreciated green spaces like this, tucked away--secret hiding spots. "...I guess...I dunno. I have this thing where I find something to obsess about, and then I like, REALLY get into it, ya know? It's the hockey player in me. Always gotta' have a goal! First it was hockey, and I did that. Then it was spellbreaking. Then it was Cian...which was a loss. But right now I feel like I'm just not getting far in my spellbreaking career, ya know? I keep getting my ass kicked." He pouted. "By Spike. Ugh. Hey, what's that...?"

Up ahead, a man in a blue uniform stood at a metal push cart, staring at a glass box. The box was affixed to a small platform, with a crank handle. Next to it, arranged in a neat row, were a collection of colorful flavoring syrups.

The middle aged purveyor frowned. "Darn, this thing isn't working." He looked up at the giant foreigners approaching him, and flinched. "Huh? I...uh...don't want any trouble!"

Robbie's eyes adjusted to Gloria's ambient translation magick, reforming the kanji and hiragana on the side of the cart into French. Then English. Then a mixture of the phonetic dialect Robbie's family spoke. He blinked, forcing his brain to fix on a translation. He hadn't bothered mentioning that his attention span could affect perception of enchantments as well.

Regardless, he attempted the gist of it. "Shaved...ice?" He said.

The merchant was taken aback. "Oh, you two speak Japanese. I am very sorry, but the machine is broken. The freezing mechanism won't work for me."

Robbie looked at the glass box. He assumed it must fill up with ice.

Then, rarity of rarities, he got an idea. "Dude, I am a freezing mechanism." He already picked up on the merchant's confusion, so he conjured up a small sphere of flurries, dancing around his fingers. "See?"

The shaved ice vendor smiled. "Oh, you're a Cryos magi? We don't see many down here. Usually in Hokkaido..."

Robbie looked to his coach, who nodded in approval. "Mind if I give it a try?"

The vendor scratched his head. After a moment's hesitation, he shrugged.

"Sure...but..."

Robbie was already on the case, closely investigating the machine and trying to put the pieces together. "Er..."

"Here," John Henry offered. He pointed to tubes going into the ice machine. "Looks like nitrogen. If you were to channel your energy here, you'd basically be doing the same thing as the machine down here."

"Thanks!" Robbie said, cheerfully, placing his hands on the tube. He thought cold thoughts. "Okay, let's see here..."

The machine whirred to life. A flurry of fine bits of ice sprayed out of the generator at the bottom of the glass case, soon filling it up with chips needed for the ice.

"Oh!" the proprietor said, impressed. "It's working."

"That's not all," Robbie said, grinning. He flicked hid hands, drawing the shaved ice from the glass box, swirling it around in the air.

John Henry gave him a warning look. "Don't get too cocky now, Wolfie."

Robbie went to glare at him, but restrained himself at the last second. Big guy had a point. "Er...right. Hold on a second..."

He shaped the ice into a crude, but undeniable cute and easily recognizable shape. He then (without asking for permissions) squirted some of the blue, sweet syrup on top of it, giving it color.

A few school children watching the odd foreigners gathered around the shaved ice machine took notice. "Look at that! He's so cool."

"Huh?" Robbi turned around to see the two small children, a boy and a girl, staring up wantingly at this ice creation. "It's a w--"

"It's Hachiko!" the little girl said!"

Icewolf bit his lip. "Y-yeah! It's Hachiko!" He handed it to her.

"Aww I want one too!" the boy said.

Beaming, Robbie turned to the vendor, who both amused and a bit irritated that he was being shown up a foreigner, nodded. Icewolf conjured up another ice shape (a miniature snowman) and handed it to the boy.

"Aw, I want strawberry!" The boy pointed to the top of the snowman. "For his hat."

Robbie laughed. "Haha. Fine, little dude." 

Soon, a throng of kids had gathered around the cart, slamming down small change and begging Robbie to make more creations. 

"Wow, this is awesome!"

After the crowd has cleared (and Robbie's magick thoroughly spent) Robbie leaned against the side of the cart and sighed.

The proprietor was certainly not disappointed. "Hey, you're good for business, kid!" He closed his register til and gave Robbie a closer look. "Say, you're one of those guys who fights in their underwear. No wonder you got a knack for it."

"Aw, thanks. I love making things." Robbie smiled. "I used to get made fun of it allll the time by the bigger guys. That's why I started weight lifting and working out." Smile turning to sneer, he pounded his fist against the inside of his hand. "So I could shove them into lockers when they made fun of my ice dancing."

Mr. Iron had been watching, with great pride and joy, the whole time. He laughed, heartily. "Kid, you're a diamond in the rough."

Robbie cocked his head. "Nah, I'm Anishinaabe."

"No I mean you have a lot of potential." Mr. Iron gave the grateful vendor a polite bow and motioned the scrappy fighter along before he could somehow make a mess of his victory. "Say, you want to take some lessons with me? To be honest, I miss one-on-one training, and since I'm gonna take a step back from the whole Chalice th--"

"YEAAAAH!" Robbie shouted, startling a group of elderly women taking a stroll nearby. "What!? That's AWSOME. Iron and Ice! WOO! WOO! WOO!" He punched the fist, ignoring the looks from passersby.

Mr. Iron motioned for him to settle, but it was a pointless endeavor. "I...appreciate the excitement."

"I'll be like the BEST student ever!" Robbie said, swirls of diamond dust floating around him in excitement. "Put me in coach, you can count on me!"

Now, Mr. Iron wasn't sure if he'd made a mistake or not.  "Well, how about this for a first test," he started. "Wanna redeem yourself, kid? Help us locate the wellspring for the Chalice of Knowledge that Tiger and Deadboy picked up in Hong Kong."

"YEAAAH! So, like, where is this puddle anyway?"

"Ah, that's the thing." Mr. Iron craned his head towards the shrine up ahead, the gathering place where Yuki, Kengo, Rai, Joseph, and Colt were waiting. "It's in the Sea of Trees..."

The End

Chapter 8: Old and New

The gorgeous, stain glass ceilings and windows around the arena were unlike anything Robbie 'The Icewolf', had never seen in a spellbreaking venue. The stain glass had been enchanted to shift colors at the whims of the light mages on staff, just another poignant touch in a culture that took spellbreaking seriously, but understood its colorful roots.

Still, he wished he was fighting in the ring tonight instead of acting as cheerleader for his team. As Colt had effectively disqualified Deadboy and Icewolf from the World Championships, the frosty jock didn't really have much to look forward to in spellbreaking these days. He figured he might as well enjoy the benefits of travel with his other 'bros'.

"Awwww yeah!" Robbie shouted, startling Gio (and the polite fans sitting around them). "Come on, White Tiger--kick his ass, big bro!"

Even though he wasn't a hometown boy, White Tiger had come out to considerable fanfare, wearing a flashy, silver, tiger striped robe and epaulets modelled off the head of the Merlion fountain (from Joseph's hometown of Singapore). White Tiger, gentlemanly and humble (until you got a spotlight on him, that is) struck a heroic pose a fountain of silver pyrotechnics. Face bathed in sparks, he reared his head up and roared, "ARE YOU READY TO SEE A TIGER KILL!! RAAAAAAAOOOOR!"

The audience, including Robbie, lost their shit. 

Tiger's opponent was the slinky, svelt, and mysterious SIlver Samurai, a masked metal-user who was both an enigma and a skilled fighter. Both Tiger and Samurai were excellent high flyers, weaponizing acrobatics and ropework to kick the absolute stuffing out of each other in spectacular fashion. They were equally matched, and the tension in the air was so thick that it felt like the whole stadium might burst from the stress. It didn't help that the enthusiastic, Japanese audience was usually stone quiet (a sign of respect and admiration), reacting only to the timely execution of moves. 

Finally, after much battling, the tired, bloody, and bruised fighters found themselves entangled on the turnbuckle, with Tiger leaning over the Silver Samurai. Verging on passing out, Tiger summoned the last of strength and depleted Samurai's reserves with a tight, front facing choke, sapping his energy just long enough to execute a stunning 'Retribution of the Four Guardian' suplex of the top rope.

"One...two...three!"

"YAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!"

After barely managing to get to his feet, Joseph held up his hands in victory, summoning enough energy to let out a mighty roar. He bowed to all four corners of the room, and then helped the Samurai get to his feet.

Mic in hand, Joseph addressed the room, in both perfect Japanese and then English. "Thank you, kind people of Japan. I will NOT be taking your gear, Silver Samurai." White Tiger bowed deeply to his opponent. "A warrior such as yourself only deserves the utmost respect. And...I look forward to the rematch."

Joseph placed his hand on the silent samurai's shoulder. The warrior returned his opponent's bow, with one of his own, and then a handshake. 

"Only a babyface such as the Tiger could earn applause on someone else's home terf," Gio pointed out to his coworker. 

Icewolf was impressed, and a bit annoyed. "I don't think I could ever do that, bro. They'd boo the shit out of me here." He sulked.

"Hmmm. Perhaps you need to learn to be more respectful to your opponents."

Icewolf snorted. "I mean, a loser in silver pyjamas like that? I don't think I could keep a straight face."

"Oh, Robbie, my wolf--this is heel behavior."

"WHAT! I am not a heel, bro. I am a tough face." Robbie sulked. "Tweener at best. Maybe Daemian rubbed off on me a bit too much. I dunno." He sighed. "I miss the big, bad dude. Even if he did smell like chicken soup and cigarettes sometimes..."

Gio wrinkled his nose, grumbling. "I do not. He is crazy! And as you said, he smell bad."

"Which can be kinda hot in a certain mood," Icewolf added.

Gio mad an 'x' with his large hands. "No! No thanks."

While the spellbreakers chatted to themselves between matches, Colt and Mr. Iron, sitting in the VIP boxes some ways aback from Icewolf and Gio, were just glad to see the good-natured but rambunctious Icewolf being weened off the Aussie dark mage's influence. They were not, however, in Japan solely to make nice with their Japanese equivalent fed, Okami. The matter of the Chalices still took precedence. Which is why they had sought to rendezvous with Salim Netjeer, benefactor for the GSA and one of Aradia's board of directors. He would certainly take the matter with the gravity it deserved. 

"Did someone say beeeeeeers!" the giant, handsome Salim said. He sat down with a tray full of frothy mugs for Colt and John Henry's indulgence. All around him, the Japanese audience stared at his massive frame, making sure to get out of the way. They had never seen a man of such stature before. 

"I wonder if he's a spellbreaker too," a group of fangirls (for White Tiger) whispered to each other.

"Nah, I don't think so. Some foreigners are just big, is all. He is really good looking though, no?"

"I wonder if he's White Tiger's manager."

"No, that's Salim Netjeer! He's a wealthy philanthropist who funds all sorts of spellbreaking things."

"Him? I hear he's a bit of a playboy."

"I hear he's very strange. Into artefacts and stuff. He funded a famous documentary here in Japan about Egypt and then one one the Silk Road."

"Oh yes, I saw that one! It was very good. I wonder if a man that busy ever has time for things like love."

"What, are you going to hit on him, Yuko-chan?"

"No way! White Tiger is my dream hunk."

"I used to like Rai, but now I love his rival, Kengo. Mmm. He's so meaty and sweet. I bet he would be good husband material."

"I hear rumors he's gay though..."

"Oh, so what if he is? He better get a good boyfriend then. Someone who can cook for him to make sure he keeps those muscles big. A nice, thoughtful husband like that. Maybe I can match him up with my cousin..."

"I hear White Tiger may be dating Deadboy Daemian too. Ugh, all the good men are gay, I swear. What's a hot-blooded straight woman to do these days?"

The three veteran spellbreakers and their generous benefactor tuned out the fangirl's noise. Colt's mind, at least, was far away from the spellbreaking match about to take place.

"Buck's in Australia still," he sighed. "Hasn't talked to me in two weeks. Talked to Varla though. She refuses to get involved with us."

"Smart woman," Mr. Iron muttered from the corner of his mouth. "Man, is this what it's gonna be like if I have a son?"

"Or a daughter," Salim added, off-handedly. "Or, you know, an Iggy. Children are a handful, no matter what gender expression. Or so I assume, anyway. That's why I stay a confirmed bachelor. Hey, congrats on the incoming kid, by the way, John"

Mr. Iron narrowed his eyes, studying Salim's serene--but all-knowing--expression. "I don't remember telling too many people. Guess word gets out, huh? Anyways, Colton, Buck will come around. He's a level-headed fella'. And if I may be blunt, he's done a good job of running the GSA." He added, with complete candor, "Even if it's not the way that YOU would run it, cowboy. I mean, look, are your employees happy?"

Colt crossed his arms and sulked. "Yeah, I guess. I just..." He shook his head. Judging from the static teasing out his long hair, Salim and John Henry could tell he was stressed, generating excess electrons. "I'm just worried about the kid is all. And I'm worried about the way this championship is heading, especially with Firebird...you know..."

"Basically being a front for magickal terrorists working on behalf of Russia," Salim said, raising a glass. "Why, as you Yanks say, 'beat around the bush'? We know they're nuts, habibi. Why do you think Aradia is on their case. Besides..." Salim lowered his voice. "I think the US and Europe are going to be making moves on Russia very, very soon. Word I hear from my buds in Egyptian intelligence is...the Tsar isn't in very good health, and his generals aren't as organized as they'd like the rest of the world to think. With their recent stunt against Poland, and all the rumors swirling about the Black Library..."

Colt pointed a firm finger in his friend's direction. "Sir, if the damn CIA comes a-knockin', I swear it'll be the thing that tips my blood pressure over into stroke territory. You were the ones that got us into this fine mess with the Chalices."

Salim smiled, taking it in stride, and putting his enormous arms around Colt and Mr. Iron (two enormous men themselves). "Ok, but look at how much fun we're having because of it!"

"Grrr." Colt said, shifting suddenly. He winced, moving his arm away in pain. "Goddess-damn it..."

"I didn't think I was THAT strong," Salim said, taken aback.

Mr. Iron, however, was more concerned. "Colt, your shoulder."

"Just a minor dislocation," he muttered, turning away and burying his face in his beer. "When is this damn match gonna start anyhow..."

Mr. Iron frowned. Colt was being...very Colt tonight. "Minor dislocation? You've been burning the candle at both ends, cowboy. When's the last time you got a good night's rest?"

"Rest? When? My wayward kid is out there fighting GIANT MONSTERS with one of my best guys--and absolute headaches--and we got magical assassins comi' after us to boot. You think I'm capable of rest? On top of that, I've got tons of matches of my own. I'm booked. Didn't think I'd take part on this world tour to begin with. And, not to swing the pistol in your direction, slick, but if there's anybody who's done enough for us and should sit this out, it's you."

Mr. Iron raised an eyebrow. "Me?"

"You've got a kid on the way, John. I know you're literally made out of metal but..." he trailed off. "I've seen plenty of tough guys whose luck ran out unexpectedly. I don't want you to be one of them. I've been thinking. Once I get through to Buck, maybe you should take over as president for a bit. Or run this thing with me."

Several different throughs ran through Mr. Iron's head. Salim looked on, silently amused. "Gee...Colt...I dunno."

Colt shrugged. "I'm getting old, John." He pointed to his shoulder. "I truly hate to admit it. But...I think it's maybe time I hung up my boots for good. Let the new blood take over. What's the point of training them if we can't make way, eh?"

"Heh. You should try telling your son that sometime."

"...Maybe." Colt looked down at the ring, at the crowd, at Gio and Icewolf sitting in the front row, excitedly chatting about Goddess-knows-what. "India's in two weeks. Spike vs Rage. That heat between them could melt the sun, and not just because of Rage's powers."

Salim grinned. "A spellbreaking title match hasn't been garnered this much anticipation and excitement since...hmm...perhaps your first showdown with Serpent. I don't think out little blonde habibi has fully grasped the magnitude of it yet. Perhaps, it is for the best he does not. It might give him more anxiety."

"Goddess-damn," Colt said, empathically. "Spike's damn good, sure. I love someone who defies my expectations, and that boy's been full of surprises. But against Rage? I just don't know. Things are going in directions I didn't expect. Don't like it. And...I don't like what I'm hearing about him and Buck being involved with each other, neither."

Mr. Iron and Salim exchanged silent, concerned looks.

"Look," Colt said, "I'm gonna use the gentleman's. Be back before the fireworks begin."

Colt left Mr. Iron and Salim together, and it was only then that Iron noticed the subtle tension between him and the large benefactor. Something about him...was bothersome.

"A coin flip," Salim said, suddenly.

"Beg pardon?"

"You're wondering if you get through these next few months alive." Salim was far too casual in his speaking. "I got a hunch about these things, boss. Stay the course and fight Firebird, and you're looking at half-and-half." His expression, normally carefree, suddenly became grave. "I'm serious. I didn't want to have to tell you this either. You've been a phenomenal soldier."

Mr. Iron looked into his beer. No answers there. "You talkin' like it's the first time I saved the world," he said, smirking. 

"These boys don't know what you're capable of doing. You're truly a hero, Iron. Most who've done what you've accomplished would write books and scream it from the mountaintops. I know you said you're doing this to make sure your kid has a safe world in which to grow and thrive, but..." Salim placed his hand on the large man's shoulder. "You have allies. We're here to take the heat off you, boss. And I promise you, if I get my favorable outcome, then the world will be in a lot better place than it is now."

Mr. Iron immediately forced himself to act thankful and understanding, but the truth was, something about Salim's words felt...off to him. "What's your grudge against Firebird, anyway? Why have you really gotten involved in this?"

Salim smiled. The Mona Lisa would have been jealous. "If I told you everything about me, I wouldn't be so interesting, would I? Let's just say, I suspect Grigorivich is a bigger threat than anybody knows. Our last war was started by idiot men, who were, nevertheless, mortal."

"And you sayin' Grigorivich is...what? A demon? A god? Something hinky like that?"

"Oh, I suspect he's all too human. I just fear he's concealed the full extent of his powers. Plus...what's his endgame? The Chalices contain the provenance of the Goddess, right? During the war, the Albans and their secret societies wanted to get their hands on them, and most people thought they were crazy for doing so. Wrote them off. But we've seen what kind of weirdness surrounds these Chalices. Gods. Spirits. Creatures from other worlds. All seem to be drawn to those damn cups."

Iron nodded, taking it all in. "Well, we know they're meant to be used in a sacred ritual in Eden."

To which Salim, ominously, replied, "But have you considered what else they could be used for?"

"...No."

"That's the thing, habibi, nobody has. Except...perhaps, Grigorivich."

---

"Well, well, little cub," the tall, muscular spellbreaker in the dragon scale tights said as he approached his opponent, doubled over in agony. "Such a familiar situation we find ourselves in again." Rai sneered. His phantom dragon coiled around him, eyes glowing blue, ready for the killing strike.

Kuma Kengo, wearing his signature fundoshi, placed his hands on his knees, panting, blood dripping from his nose. He looked down at the bloom of red in his hand. "I...won't lose this time."

"Just like when we were kids," Rai sneered. "Kengo, I admire how far you've come in this sport. I really do. But challenging me again? Now that was a step too far." With a flick of his hand, Rai willed his dragon spirt summon into attack position. "How did I finish you off again last time? Oh yeah. Squeezing the stuffing out of you with my dragon friend, like anaconda to its prey."

As Rai willed his dragon into the attack, fangs bearing, he failed to notice the slight smile that had cut across Kuma's face.

"Blood," Kengo said. "As a medical student, I know spilled blood means danger. But, as a spellbreaker...it is a gift. There are many ways to beckon the spirits, you know, Rai. An offering of oranges or food. The sound of bells." Kengo, confidently cracked his neck and motioned for the dragon to strike. "But bears are drawn to scent of blood. I am no different. And neither is my summon! Come FORTH, Bear King Minoru!"

And like, hurry up pleeeease!

As the long dragon positioned itself to squeeze Kengo to death, a fountain of light erupted from Kengo's back tattoo, and a large, luminous shape sprung forth, claws at the ready.

"GET FUCKED, SCALEY!" the bear king roared, sinking its jaws into the dragon's neck!

"GAAAAAH!" Rai and his summon shrieked at the same time, both experiencing the same searing pain. Particles of light burst from the dragon's wound. For Rai, a geyser of blood. 

The audience, shocked, reacted with cries of fright. Even Colt, normally composed, couldn't believe how far his pupil had come. "Hot damn, boy."

Kengo had to suppress his instincts to rush over and assist Rai. He had soma in him. He would be fine. Even after this next part.

Hopefully...

As Rai sprung up onto his feet, one hand pressed over his wound, he snarled at his childhood friend and current opponent. "You BRAT! I'll KILL--"

"What will you do now?" Kengo said, as he arm dragged Rai into his grasp, and picked him up off his feet.

"I...uh..."

SLAM!

Kengo spiked Rai into the mat, just underneath the turnbuckle. The whole ring shook. It was a very disadvantageous position as well, Rai was soon about to discover.

At the other end of the ring, Minoru tore his claws through the phantom dragon. It shattered into particles of light, sending it back into the unseen. The sun bear spirit looked over. "Attaboy, Ken!"

Kengo stood on the top ropes, looking out into the crowd. He met Colt's smiling eyes. The cowboy nodded. 

Ohgodsohgodsohgods. Kengo gulped. Then, he summoned his resolve. Glowing with blue fire, he struck his fist to his chest. "One thousand spirit shattering...SENTON!"

Rai looked up just in time to see nearly 300+ pounds of Kengo coming down on him. Butt first.

BOOM!

The horrified ref fell to Rai's side. Keno, sitting on his defeated opponent, crossed his arms over his chest.

"Damn! Get a spatula," Mr. Iron said.

Gio couldn't believe it. "He smushed him...with his butt."

Icewolf sighed. "I know, bro. Lucky bastard..."

Twitching and gasping for breath, Rai, barely conscious, looked up at his scowling, giant friend. "Can't...breathe..."

"Hmph" Kengo stared down at him. Polite as he was, he couldn't help but smile. "Say sorry for throwing my Pretty Astral Princess Warrior manga into the river and I'll get up."

"But...we...were...like...six-years -old."

Kengo shifted on his seat. "Huh. Funny. This is a very comfy seat, actually."

"Agh! Okay, I'm sorry!" Tears in his eyes, Rai pleaded, "Kengo, you already pulverised my ribs...don't pulverize my pride too."

"We are even," Kengo said, standing. He graciously allowed the ref to hold up his hand. As Minoru dematerialized back into Kengo's back tattoo, the humbleness returned as well. Kengo blushed, scratching the back of his neck. "Well, gee...I guess I did it, huh?"

"I need...assistance," Rai groaned from the ground, as the medical magi sprung into being.

It was the first time since joining the GSA, that Kengo had honestly felt like a winner. Unexpectedly, he found a microphone in his hands. "Hmm?"

The promoter nodded. "Just a few words!"

"Uhhh...I dunno." Kengo gulped. "Um...okay. Yes, is this on? Yes, it's on. Okay. First, I want to thank my mom, who's in the audience. Hi, mom."

Somewhere in the quiet room, a woman shouted out. "I love you, son!"

Everyone in the audience 'awwwed'.

Except for one rude, haughty voice blaring in from over the speakers. "Ho ho ho! Well done little bear and little dragon. But you've sullied my ring for the last time."

Rai, finally, managed to pull himself off the mat. He looked over at the confused ref, and the even more confused Kengo.

"Ugh, it's that loser, Ken-kun."

"Who is..."

The ringside commentator, a tutu sporting catgirl named Nekole, piped up. "Oh nyaoooo! It's the Wonderful Tsubaki and his Kappa Boys!"

The audience found themselves forced to press their hands to their ears as a blare of motorcycles, and ensuing exhaust, filled the auditorium. Strange, green, imp creatures--a cross between ducks and turtles--burned rubber down the entrance aisle, all of them sporting nifty leather jackets, and their choppers completely souped up with fancy grills, decals, and lights. Some of the creatures carried kendo sticks in their free hands. Others, chains and pipes. There were at least six or seven in total. The ref immediately turn tail and fled.

And, appearing on top of the entrance arch, dressed in a shoulder padded, studded, pink leather jacket, (and with glorious, gold hair that even Iggy Astro might envy) their leader. Pink lipstick. Purple eyeshadow. The swishy villain licked their lips and announced their wicked intent.

"Oh ho ho hooo. Yes, 'tis I--the gorgeous, Wonderful Tsubaki, here to steal the show!"

Kengo did a double take. "He looks...like one of the villains from 'CoCo's Strange Saga'!"

The gaudy heel did a pose, half crossing their arms in some kind of strange, pseudo-vogue move. "Kappa Boys. Attack!"

The sun-glass sporting, pompadour-styled, green creature in the front nodded to his men. "'Dawright, boss. Guys, ya heard the boss! Let's kick their asses!"

In the crowd, Icewolf looked at Gio. "Uh...if we're in Japan, why do the Kappas have New York accents like Spike?"

Gio shrugged. "Must just be Gloria's translation magick."

Brandishing their weapons, the bancho kappas stormed the ring, circling and corralling Rai and Kengo. Though they were half the size of the two athletes, they were quick, and they had the numbers. Kengo clenched his teeth, pressing his back to Rai, staring down the strange water creatures. 

Tsubaki pressed the side of their hand to their face, a dainty gesture reminiscent of an effete aristocrat. "HO HO HO! Outnumbered are we? Well, too bad. I saw the perfect opportunity to take two peasants like you off the chessboard, and my cute self just had to take it."

"He's like Iggy Astro but worse..." Kengo grumbled. It was far too soon to summon Minoru. It would fizzle both their energy out. Likely, Tsubaki knew this and had waited for the right moment to attack. "Rai, I need backup here."

But the dragon summoner was out of power too. "Well, maybe I could have helped us if YOU HADN'T SAT ON ME." 

Kengo laughed nervously. "Er...sorry about that." I cannot believe I just won a victory and now I am going to be beaten to death by a bunch of delinquent yokai.

The creatures with the concave protrusions on their heads drew closer, brandishing their weaponry. "We're gonna make yous guyz wish youz neveh been born?"

Why do they talk like Spike? Kengo shook his head, trying to focus. "Hmm. Well, if you want to wrestle, then you should do the right thing and bow to us first!" Yes, that's right! In all the manga I've read, you defeat kappas by making them bow to you, pouring out the water in their heads and robbing them of their strength! Well, it's either that or carve your name into a cucumber and throw it at them...

The leather jacket-wearing leader of the bunch spat on the canvas. "We're bad guys. We don't bow."

"Gah!" Kengo flinched. "This isn't good, Rai. If they beat us up they might..." Kengo swallowed.

"MIGHT WHAT?" The dragon summoner screamed. He was panicking. "DON'T LEAVE ME HANGING--I HAVE ANXIETY!"

"They...they...they'll SUCK THE SOULS OUT OF OUR BUTTS!"

"WHAT!? WHAT!??"

The kappa sneered, licking his lips. "And you got a big, tasty rump there, big boy."

In the audience, Icwolf cocked an eyebrow. "Is it just me, or is this getting weird?"

Gio tapped the side of his head. "Uh...I read in a folktale book that they do, in fact, do that. It is lore accurate."

But before any butt-beating (or eating) could begin in earnest, the lights in the arena suddenly turned a hazy, rosy hue. A high-spirited rock jam blasted over the loudspeakers. Kengo, looking up towards the lighting rig (same as everyone else) felt something soft and fragrant rub against his cheek. 

When he pulled his hand back... "A rose petal?" the perplexed sumo hunk said. "What? It's raining petals? El Amante?"

"What is this nonsense?" Tsubaki, from his vantage point on top of the arch, snarled. He looked up into the shower of petals, now joined by an additional, gentle snowfall.

Out in the audience, Gio looked at the pile of rose petals in his lap. "I...know this magick. This is..."

"Did you miss me, fellas?"

The spotlight illuminated the entrance arch, specifically two strong, feminine silhouettes standing side by side. The kappa in the ring paused their advance, turning their green heads towards the sight of the two intimidating beauties.

The woman in the red, rose-themed gear flexed her muscles for the crowd. Her companion, a cold, beauty in a white kimono and icy-blue wrestling attire, conjured up a fan of ice and cooled herself off. 

"Reina Rosa!" Kengo blurted out. 

Icewolf stood up to get a better look. "Woooah! And who's the frosty, ice babe?"

Nekole was happy to answer the question. "What is going on, audience!? Nyaaa!? It's Reina Rosa and Yuki, the White Gale! A totally powerful tag team that's as deadly as they are pretty!"

Tsubaki growled. "Interference!? DURING MY MOMENT?"

The two lady spellbreakers stormed the ring. The kappa met the assault head on, raising their weapons to lay the smackdown. Rosa was quick to disarm them with her whip-like rose vines, tossing the foreign objects to the floor and lashing the creatures across the face just to prove a point. 

The leader charged at Yuki, who remained still, motionless, and unbothered. She placed her fingers to her lips and blew an icy fog, cutting off the kappa's line of sight. Incapacitated, she turned to her tag partner.

"Miss, I will take to the left. You, to the right."

Rosa nodded, pony-tail bobbing up behind her. "Got it, Yukes."

"My name is not 'Yukes'," she replied in a soulless monotone.

The two ladies jumped into action, dishing out round house kicks and elbow drops. Kengo and Rai jumped in to the help them, now that the playing field have been levelled. 

Icewolf was beside himself with excitement. "Ice...users are so...cool."

Gio, however, was trained on the muscular woman in red kicking kappa butt. "Rosa...she looks." He swallowed, feeling a heat come on. "So strong."

Kengo picked up a scrawny, green creature and tossed it over his shoulder, forcing its water to splash out (effectively knocking it out). "Rosa, I missed you!"

The fighter in red smiled, just as she crushed a kappa's head between her thighs in a standing head-scissor. "Missed you too, big guy. Looks like you could use some support."

"You've...turned face."

"Turning and serving it, bear!" Shew blew him a kiss. Then, the woman stood and conjured up another thorny wall, throwing it into two kappas charging at her with baseball bats. "Eat thorns, you cucumber-munching freaks!"

The grunts were down, leaving the largest pair of brutes to take on the four spellbreakers.

Yuki nodded to her tag partner. "Miss, are you ready?"

"Hell yeah!" Rosa said, flipping up onto the top rope. "Combo attack!"

Yuki summoned an icy wind, propelling her to the opposite tope. She crushed her fan in her hand, diamond-dust orbiting around her arm. "Soul of snow, unto my command."

Kengo and Rai knew they better stand back.

"Rose raid blizzard assault!"

A gale-force wind churned up rose petals, turning them into a perfect spiral around Rosa's body. On the other side of the ring, the snow formed a similar pattern for Yuki. The two queens of the ring jumped into the air, crossing over each other and combining elements, turning their magically-enhanced physiques into missiles of pure energy. 

BOOOOM!

The ring exploded into pink and blue light, scattering shards of ice and shredded roses. Nothing but a pile of two crushed kappa remained, joining their compatriots--strewn across the canvas--in similar twitching, steaming husks. They did it!

The bell rang.

"Thanks, ladies!" Kengo, ever-chipper, said.

Rai crossed his arms. "Hmph. We had it under control." He looked over at Yuki, pushing back her severely cut bob, platinum white, behind her ears. The cold, emotionless woman looked over at the svelt, spirit summoner.

And the spirit summoner found his eyes transformed into a pair of giant hearts. "WOOAAAH! Hello my gorgeous ice goddess."

Yuki blinked. "You should check your head for signs of injury, Sir Rai. You are acting erratically." The ice user nodded to her tag partner. "Miss. What of Tsubaki?"

The dandy devil jumped off the entrance arch, landing with perfect poise in front of the aisle. He threw out his hand, his gold bangles, bracelets, and jewellery melting and reforming themselves into a giant javelin. "How DARE you make a mockery of my assault. CHEATERS! This insult will not go unp--"

"Hey guys," White Tiger said, blotting his face with a towel as he came up behind Tsubaki. He seemed...unaware of what had gone on in his absence. "I was just signing some autographs for the children's hospital, did I miss anything--"

The audience, and Tsubaki, stared blankly at the hero hunk.

"Huh?" Tiger's eyes went from the hundreds of thousand-yard stares, up to the ring. "WOAH, Rosa! You look great, sis!"

"PAY ATTENTION!" The Wonderful Tsubaki screamed, pointing his weapon in the nonplussed champ's handsome face. "GRRR. Your little friends here are TOAST!"

White Tiger smirked. "Oh, I get it. You're supposed a big, theatrical villain huh?"

Kengo nodded and cupped his hands to his mouth. "He's THE WORST!"

The audience heartily agreed. 

Tiger dropped the towel and cracked his neck. "I got ya. Well, Mr. Tsubaki. Any last words?"

The prettyboy heel snarled. "I'M GONNA SKIN YOU AND TURN YOU INTO A PANTSSUIT!"

He barely got the sentence out, however, before Tiger grabbed him by the throat and lifted him straight off the ground. Tsubaki's eyes bulged out of his skull. 

"What...is...this power?"

"Tiger Power," the champ sneered. "Like I said. Any last words?"

"B...b..." Tsubani's eyes began to water with the realization that his fighting career was about to be over in a very painful way. "BALENCIAGAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!!"

On that note, Tiger leapt into the air and slammed The Wonderful Tsubaki into the metal grating with the force of a tractor trailer. The sheer impact, and the heel's body, broke through the floor, leaving behind only a black hole...with Tsubaki's fate left uncertain.

"Not so 'Wonderful' any more," Tiger said, flexing his muscles.

Behind Colt, Tiger's three fans promptly gasped and passed out, near synchronized, into Salim, Colt, and Mr. Iron's open arms. Colt laughed. "Yeah...champs like us tend to have that affect on our fans."

---

It was a hell of a way to end the night. Kengo had never seen so many fans and adoring audience members gather around him, asking him for photos and autographs. Though unsure of how to nail poses, or what to say in gratitude, the bashful fighter expressed his gratitude. He had to hold back tears the whole time.

Finally. This is what it's like to be a hero. I wish Spike could see this.

Even sour-faced Rai had to crack a smile, taking a photo for Kengo and his mother, who had come down from the Temple to see them perform.

But it was Rosa, unexpectedly, who felt most on top of the world. While all the other boys were cavorting backstage or indulging fans, she had grabbed Gio and taken him out the back, away from the fanfare. They walked the halls of the arenas, travelling past the gorgeous stained glass windows on display. Rosa felt like she was back in Mexico, walking through one of the old, opulent churches.

"Nobody messes with the GSA," she said, with great enthusiasm, still hyped from the fight. "Okami crew are our friends."

Gio agreed. "Brava, Rosa! Oh, and you dropped this back there."

He handed her a bouquet of tiger lilies. 

Rosa looked down at the flowers in her hands, flattered, but confused. "But...these aren't mine. They're my favorite though. I know, really betrays the rose angle, huh? But I love tiger lilies because--"

"They are one of the flowers you can't grow with your magic," Gio said, on her behalf. He winked. "I remember you telling me. That's why you think they're special."

Rosa looked down at the beautiful blooms, and then, blushing, looked up at Gio. "Gio..."

"Er...they will probably wilt soon."

"I know," she said. She cleared her throat and recomposed herself. "I'm a plant magi too, remember. I know how it works." She strode ahead, not sure if she was just caught up in the moment, or if she was starting to catch feelings.

"You look...bigger, somehow, Gio, than the last time I saw you."

"You got prettier and stronger. Hmm. Red really is your color. Even on your face."

Don't look at me when I'm blushing like this. "Well, it's just...nice to run into old friends. How long are you in town for?"

"A week. And then, we're going to India to fight Firebird. Spike is--"

"Going up against Rage," Rosa said, wincing. "I know. He's good but...he's moving way too fast. Colt is pushing him and pushing him, and not that Spike hasn't earned his stars, but...I don't think he knows what kind of man Rage is. He's dangerous. Psychotic."

"Spike will crush him," Gio said, pounding his hand into his fist. The noise echoed throughout the corridor. "He has come far in just a year. But this is not about Spike. I came here to celebrate you."

Rosa bit her lip. Why was fighting always easier than...this? "Okay, so...if you're here for a week. Do you want to, like..." she trailed off, nervously mumbling to herself in Spanish. "Diosa mia, como le pido una cita..."

"You could just ask, Rosita. You know me. I prefer when people just tell me the obvious thing..."

The fighter in red felt her body grow warm and tingly all over. "You...understood that?"

"Italian and Spanish are similar languages," he said, smiling. 

Kill me now. "Er...right. Well. Okay then! I'm calling you out, Titan! You. Me. And Tokyo's botanical gardens. What do you say?"

The giant, muscle man leaned over and took her hand, kissing it. "I say, you are on, Reina Rosa."

Just as Rosa thought she might melt into the floor, quite the opposite element sprung up on her--the cold. A gust of wind announced the presence of her tag partner, Yuki. Honestly, the woman appeared and vanished like some kind of ghost.

"Miss," she said. Her eyes briefly travelled to Gio.

Rosa sighed. "Yeah, sorry. What's going on?"

The woman in white bowed. "Mr. Colt and White Tiger have asked me to help you in your efforts." She paused "I know where to locate the Divine Wellspring of Knowledge."

Rosa and Gio gasped in approximate synchronization. "You do?" Gio said. "You need to tell White Tiger. He has been looking. Where is it, Miss Yuki?"

The woman looked askance. "Ah, yes. There just...a problem. How do you two feel about...ghosts?"

To Be Continued

Double Teamed!

A cool, Autumn twilight bathed the GSA compound in a velvety, misty evening. Between tournaments on the world tour arc, the spellbreakers had finally found some well-earned downtime. The recent departure (in good faith) of Reina Rosa, a cornerstone of the GSA and friend to many, was felt by all. Buck, tasked with running the GSA in his father Colt's absence, was settling into his responsibilities. The return of  the mischievous 'Nightmare Prodigals', Deadboy Daemian and Icewolf, had put the others on high alert, least of all Spike, a target of both violence and seduction for the two roguish magi. There was also, of course the ever-hanging threat posed by rival federation, Firebird.

Which was all to say that a little bit of 'nothing' was going a long way for the muscle headed himbos of the scrappy collective. Iggy and Victor, injured either physically or emotionally, were recuperating well. However, this had created a fresh problem. Without a mentor (Iggy), Spike had fallen back into a few bad habits. Namely, lusting after bad-boys. It didn't help that Deadboy Daemian had only recently declared Spike his 'boyfriend', something for which Spike--who had actually wanted a relationship for quite some time--wasn't necessarily in agreement. Daemian came on strong, and the only thing they really had in common was their affinity for referring to a collective group of people as 'yous guys' (a linguistic, convergent evolution shared by New Yorkers and Aussies).

Fortunately, Deadboy's powers allowed him a broader degree of travel. This weekend, he was back in hometown of Marrickville, in Sydney, Australia, training with his federation SxS. Though Deadboy had every intent of keeping Spike on a particular short leash (sometimes literally), his partner, the even-minded demon, Braxius, had convinced him to to channel his aggression on the hapless trainees coming into the irreverent and macabre SxS purview. Without a terrifying (if not occasionally tender) 'boyfriend' to worry about, Spike had time to hang out with his new buddies, Icewolf (Robbie Whitewolf) and the ever bombastic and entertaining, Tirano Rex. As Rex, in his more mild-mannered and intelligent civilian form, Tiago Reyes, was in town assisting the GSA with locating the erstwhile Divine Chalices (a story for another time). After a hard day of research, T. Rex was eager to sink his teeth into a wild animal, and Robbie had thusly suggested some training in the practice ring.

Of course, every guy at the GSA knew what 'training in the practice ring' really meant.

"Finally," Robbie said, stretching his arms in the ring corner. He yawned, his diamond-cut abs visible beneath the slit of his shirt, resting just above his tight trunks. "It's nice getting to spare with you, dino bro. You know, now that you don't need to worry about me kicking your ass, that is." Handsome Robbie smirked. Befitting a hockey player, he was tall, with a rich, dark complexion, and equally dark, shining eyes. With a short cropped hair and muscles to boot, he was the picture of a jock stud.

Sitting in the deck chair at the side of the ring, blonde, Spike (a stud in his own right) cupped his hands to his mouth. "Ooooooooh. Are you gonna take that lying down, big guy?"

The enormous muscular man in the corner directly opposite from Robbie, AKA Icewolf, tugged on his mask's strings, tightening it around his head. The dinosaur masked Tirano Rex (real name, Tiago Reyes) turned his head slowly, monster-like, towards his rival. "I WILL NOT," he roared. "BECAUSE I AM ALREADY STANDING UP!"

Robbie drew back, genuinely intimidated. "Woah, bro, that's deep. Hey, but this just gonna be some friendly sparring!"

"And I'm reffing!" Spike piped up. His feathery blonde hair bounced (along with his pecs) in time with his rambunctious cheering. 

"From over there?" Robbie asked, as dumbfounded as his opponent. 

"Yeah!" Spike said. "Because...I don't want to get hurt! I saw yous guyse's match! I don't need to get frozen solid, or impaled, or accidentally...you know...eaten alive. Besides, if it's just training, you don't really need a ref." His heart-winning smile was assuring.

Still, T. Rex, the smartest of all three (believe it or not) grit his teeth at the sexy spectator. "YOU TRY TO TRICK TIRANO? GRRR. I WILL EAT YOU LIKE A TINY, CHOCOLATE BISCUIT."

"Hey, big guy," Robbie said, distracting his opponent by slowly removing his hockey jersey. He locked eyes with his former nemesis, slowly running his hand down his washboard abs, cupping his bulge arrogantly. "I got your snack right here."

T. Rex's lizard-like eyes nearly bulged out of his mask. "WOOOOAH!" he roared. "TASY WOLFIE. Hehe. BUT I AM THE BIGGEST..." 

He flexed his biceps.

"BADDEST!"

He turned and flexed his rippling back.

"DINO DADDY RARRRGH!"

Roaring like a savage animal, the Jurassic luchador struck a 'most muscular' pose, all of his coppery, veiny muscles bulging out in mass.

Clearly, Spike had the best view of the house. A natural born hedonist, he wasn't shy about letting his hard-on rage, even with his friends. "When the zombie boy's away," he growled softly, stroking the front of his tight jeans, "the sailor will play." 

The cold wolf likewise loved what he saw. "Oh fuck, bro, look at that back. Come at me, you dinosaur chicken nugget!"

The lockup was explosive. Spike could almost picture the sparks. Even though it was just a friendly spar, the attractive Brooklynite saw quite plainly that these two studs were giving it all they got. Thankfully, this bout was far less tense than their previous match. There was a playfulness in either man's eyes. 

Rex was the stronger of the two, but Icewolf was quicker. He went for a top wrist lock, expertly reversed by T. Rex, kicking off a spiralling and twisting of muscular bodies trying to get the other into a painful position. The dance ended, with inelegant tactics, when T. Rex reared up his big boot and slammed poor Icy right in the gut, knocking him off his stance.

Drooling with hunger, and teeth gnashing, Rex went for a take down with a twist...a BITE to Icewolf neck. "SO MEATY!"

"Gah!" Icewolf yelped, trying to shove the hunky, masked man off of him. It was no use! Rex clamped down harder, using his hands to explore and violate Wolf's sweaty chest. "That's grade A Canadian beef you're sinking your dirty teeth into, bro!"

Rex dropped his opponent to the mat. A seasoned spellbreaker might use this opportunity to twist Icewolf into all sorts of submission moves or joint locks, which Tirano Rex could easily accomplish, of course. But the Dino Daddy was content to play with his food, and savor the taste. He mounted Icewolf, who reacted by putting up his leg guard, wrapping his giant thighs around his opponent. If he compressed hard enough, he thought, then he might be able to squeeze a submission off the brute!

But T. Rex was only emboldened by the tactic. "Big legs!" he salivated, drooling onto his opponents too-obvious bulge, a spherical protrusion between the logo of a wolf head.

Icewolf gagged. "That's disgusting!"

"HAHAHA! I KNOW!" Rex dug in like a savage beast, clawing and pummelling Icewolf's chest. "TENDERIZE MY MEAT!"

He can tenderize my meat, Spike thought, ringside, equally hungry for some the action. A mischievous smile crossed his lips, and without thinking, his hands began to wander to his crotch. He pictured Kengo 'poofing' onto his shoulder in a puff of smoke, an angel telling him that he was violating spectator etiquette. Deadboy Daemian, in sulfuric, green miasma, materialized on Spike's left shoulder, encouraging him to slip his pants into his jeans and starting feeling himself up. It wasn't like two oversexed, violent himbos like them would mind, right?

Icwolf struggled to throw off the heavyweight beast, currently clawing and gauging at his opponent with a wild abandoned. "I thought this was supposed to be a friendly practice session!"

"IT IS FRIENDLY!" Rex slobbered. "YOU AREN'T HAVING FUN, AMIGO? HEH. WHY DON'T I TEAR OFF YOUR CUTE LITTLE BRIEFS AND..." Rex stopped, suddenly, mid-sentence.

It was then that Spike realized, with a mixture of embarrassment and terror, that Rex was looking directly at him with those lizard eyes. Hand, buried deep in the trenches of his tight briefs, Spike was the cat that had caught the canary (or certain other, male fowl, in this instance). 

"Uh oh."

"GRRR." Rex seized his merciless assault, pointing an accusatory claw at his one-man audience. "YOU SEE THAT, PUP! THAT DIRTY TWINK IS STROKING HIMSELF TO OUR FIGHT!"

"WHAT!" Robbie, still on his back, struggled to turn his head towards Spike, who was now innocently whistling to himself and looking the other way. He laughed. "Aw, little bro, really? This turn you on, eh?" 

Robbie and T. Rex's eyes met. Their conspiratorial grins mirrored each other. "You thinking what I'm thinking, my prehistoric papicito?"

"HEHEHE." T. Rex licked his lips. "WHY NOT USE LITTLE SAILOR FOR PRACTICE?"

"Look at the time!" Spike squeeked, removing his hand from his underwear, and bolting up out of his chair. "Golly, look at theeeee time. I forgot, I gotta go do that...thing I was gonna do. I'll catch yous guys later!"

Channelling his hockey-playing instincts, Robbie rolled out of the ring ahead of Spike, sliding to the door and taking a grappling stance. He cracked his knuckle against his other hand. "Going somewhere, pup?"

Spike gulped. He knew his goose was cooked when Robbie called him 'pup', with that flirty-but-bulling way of his. "Aw, Robbie, you know I'm a fan! I just need to go-"

Spike felt something poke him in the back. Hot, wet, breath on his back made his blood run cold. A wet, slimy tongue ran up one side of his neck, while a heavy claw dug into his soft, white flesh on the other side. He gulped again, seeing Robbie's smile turn ice cold.

"NOT GOING ANYWHERE, MEAT. HEHEHE." 

"No! No! Nooo!!!!" Was all Spike could let out, before the air in his lungs was pushed out by a tight, suffocating reverse bearhug on behalf of T. Rex, dragging him back to the ring like a serial killer. Robbie, his hands behind his neck like a casual observer, followed in close pursuit.

"B-but I can't do spellbreaking right now!" Spike protestested, kicking wildly. "I have my clothes on!"

"Don't worry, little bro," Icewolf said, burying his nose into Spike's crotch as Rex lifted Spike up into position. Robbie took a deep, invasive sniff. "Mmmm. Smells like fresh meat, Rex!"

"WILL TASTE GOOD TOO," Rex replied, squeezing Spike even harder, and rubbing the front of his trunks against Spike's bubble butt. "WE DOUBLE TEAM THIS BOY?" Rex threw Spike over his shoulder, clear across the ropes.

Spike landed on his front, and it was only for his falling know-how that he didn't slam his pretty face into the canvas and knock out his teeth! Still, the combo of T. Rex's bear hug and his toss was enough to take the momentum out of him. 

Though, it did activate his glyph.

Robbie and Rex wasted no time sliding into the ring or jumping over the ropes, like two pack animals ready to joyously tear their prey apart. "FUCK YEAH!" Robbie hollered, bringing his boot down on Spike's butt. "It's GO time, team!"

"Why I outta'!" Scrappy Spike barked back. He wasn't gonna' just take this lying down...er...on his stomach! He made a fist, ready to wallop either of his pal's handsome faces (masked or no).

Rex got to him first. But it was a creative assault. Spile didn't event realize what he was doing, as the Dino Daddy grabbed the front of his shirt with his hands, pulling the fabric to either side.

"HOPE THIS SHIRT NOT IMPORTANT!"

"It's my gym shirt!" Spike squeeked. But it was too late. Fabric ripped from his body like paper, exposing his pale, model-like torso. 

"WOAHHHHH!" Robbie and Rex said in unison, both of them licking their chops.

I really am fresh meat! Spike thought, as it dawned on him that he was completely outmatched! 

Rex dug back into Spike with a vengeance, gripping him around the back and pulling him into a sweaty, painful bearhug. He took the opportunity to push his knuckles into Spike's tender spine, jumping up and down to pile on the pressure. Spike grit his teeth, buckling against the brutal squeeze.

"I BREAK TOY!" Rex growled. "MORE SCARED. MORE TASTY!"

"Q-quit it," Spike whined. Though, in truth, he didn't mind it.

"WHY SPIKE NOT LIKE BIG MUSCLE BEAR HUG AGAINST SEWATY CHEST IF HIS COCK SO HARD!" T. Rex growled, now gyrating his own bulge against the front of Spike's jeans. "TASTY, TASTY SPIKE! *nom*"

Now it was Spike's turn to get chomped on the neck by the king of dinosaurs! Far from a vicious attack, however, Rex nibbled and licked Spike's neck, deliberatley turning him on. Between being forced into a rough embrace, and having his neck nerves lit up at once, Spike experienced an endorphon explosion. His eyes rolled back into his head. He sincerely hoped he wouldn't pass out from the pain before he maximied his pleasure.

"Hey, Rexy!" Icewolf sneered, squaring up like a goalie ready to take on a shot, "Don't hog the stud! Hand him over to his favorite bro!" Arms wide open, Icewolf was ready to receive!"

Rex was happy to toss Spike throw the hair, a human hockey puck on a collision course with a vicious defense.

"Wolfie's got ya!" Robbie roared, intertwining Spike inside the cage of his muscles. Robbie's bear hug was even worse than Rex's! Spike thought his teeth might break from gritting down. "Awwww what's a matter, chief? Gonna wet yourself, little boy?"

Spike couldn't protest! All the air had been driven out of his lungs by the double bear hug assault. He thought he might even pass out at any moment.

Thankfully, Robbie was slightly more merciful than his tyrannically counterpart. He eased up, and began thrusting and gyrating on Spike's vulnerable bulge. "You like this, pup, don't ya? I saw you stroking it to us. You like our muscles, huh, is that it?"

"N-no," Spike whined.

"Yeah, you do! You like it when Wolfie humps ya, don't ya! Hahaha!" Robbie, unable to resist, forced his mouth onto Spike's.

And Spike, unable to resist the taste of sweaty, muscle jock, tongued him back. He gave in to his carnal impulses, returning Wolfie's bulge rubbing with his own. Both of them were tenting now. Hockey stick against hockey stick.

"That's my little bro from another hoe," Robbie said softly, removing his prying lips from his prey. "You want this, don't you? You want a big bad wolf and dino to make you moan?"

"Fuck, I do," Spike said with a lustful sigh. There was no use hiding it, right?

Rex, gracelessly rubbing the front of his own trunks, chimed in. "YOU WILL HAVE TO EARN IT. THE PRICE...IS PAIN!"

More pain, more pleasure, Spike thought. But he couldn't let them know that!

"Well, since you like muscles so much," Robbie began. "How about a taste?"

Icewolf embraced Spike tightly, nibbling on his neck, the sensation distracting Spike from the reality that was the himbo hockey player tightening his grip on Spike's lower back, bear hugging (or wolf hugging) him tightly. Spike reared his head back, cringing from the compression, but found his pretty blond head pressed forward down, hard, by Rex's claw-like grip. Spike's face was forcefully buried into the sweaty valley of Icewolf's pecs.

Icewolf bristled at his prey's touch. "Lick it like a good pup," he commanded. "Are you a good pup?"

Spike's tongue worked ahead of his brain. He lapped Robbie like a treat, tongue gliding over his hard nipples and the crest of his pecs. "I'm such a good pup," the younger spellbreaker said. He was almost embarrassed at how hard he was, and the amount of precum he was likely leading down his pants. Thankfully, they were still on.

Or so he thought. Rex yanked them off, not shy about digging his claws into Spike and leaving behind traces of deep red. Animalistic and grunting, Rex pulled them off his catch while Robbie hoisted Spike into the air with his iron grip, earning another moan from the poor sailor stud.

Rex wasn't shy about burying his face, mask and all, into Spike's wedgied up bubble butt either. 

Blushing, as well as bruised, Spike looked down at Robbie, sneering at him. "Aww, don't worry, bud. My friend here is just saying hello. How's he taste, eh?"

Rex's long tongue trailed up Spike's back, up to his neck, where he gnawed on him again. "EAT YOU ALIVE, LITTLE ONE."

"Fuck," Spike moaned, ready to tap out from pleasure and pain. "But what if I want to eat."

"YOU HAVE POINT! HEHEHE. FEED LITTLE DINO. LITTLE DINO NEED EAT TOO."

Next thing Spike knew, he was free out Robbie's wolf grip. He breathed, his back soar. But relief didn't last long (nor breath) before his face was buried deep in T. Rex's musky, Jurassic pits. His other harm held Spike in a half bear-hug, doing the work on his upper back.

Spike breathed in his man/beast scent, licking his pits. "Oh fuck, T. Rex. Oh yeah..."

"GOOD. YOU TAKE IN SCENT. REX MARK YOU LIKE TERRITORY."

"Speaking of which," Robbie said, yanking Spike free like a beast ripping back his portion from a fellow hunter, "Show a big pup how his little pup bro greet him."

He threw Spike to the mat. Dizzy with oxygen deprivation and musk, Spike looked up just in time to see a Robbie's brief covered hockey butt hovering inches from his face. Slowly, and somewhat goofily, Robbie swivelled his hips and pulled down his trunks, revealing a mint-colored jock strap and a certified hockey muscle butt. Spike, who considered himself the 'peach prince' was both jealous and honored. Even more so when all of that ass smothered his face slowly.

Spike kept on his feast. If they were going to treat him like a pup, then he was going to show them that he could dig in with the best of 'em.

Icewolf's eyes rolled back into his head. "Ohhhhh damn, Rexy. He just reversed my move."

Rex smiled. "Hehehe. Spike hungry."

Completely smothered and covered by all of the hockey hunk's best features, Spike held out his hand and gave Rex a thumbs up.

"Damn, when is he coming up for air?" Robbie moaned. He had underestimated his foe. "Okay, I'm sitting back now. You get in there in full, little bro."

"Mmmff!!!"

Spike began to thrash his legs and arms, as Robbie leaned back harder, pushing himself into Spike's face.

"Whining?" Icewolf, regaining the upper hand, a. sked. "Oh no, little pup. You might need to go into the Penalty Box for that."

Before he could pass out, Spike, covered in the masculine scent of two men, found his neck clamped down and forced into the jock's pits. Icewolf's dragon sleeper submission was as humiliating as it was brutal. Spike wasn't sure if his neck would break first or he'd pass out.

"That's right," Robbie said, pawing at Spike's giant bulge in his underwear. "I'll put my scent on you here too. Mark my territory." As his prey stuggled for air and relief, Robbie yanked down Spike's trunks, letting the pinup stud's second best feature free. Robbie's eyes grew large and hungry. "WOOOAH! Spikey, you're a thick little stud."

"MMMFFF..." Spike moaned weakly.

In total control now, Robbie gave Spike's seven-inch wonder a few strokes, turning his pain into pleasure. Like a hungry dog, Rex pushed his hand inside and swallowed Spike's girth whole, slurping and sucking on him like a creature starved of water.

It wasn't fair, Spike thought, moments away from tapping out. He was going to pass out just as he was about to reach peak pleasure.

Fortunately, the dino daddy interceded on his behalf. He growled at his fledgling tag buddy. "GRRR! WOLFIE! DO NOT PUT HIM OUT! HE CANNOT HAVE FUN IF HIM K.O!"

Robbie rolled his eyes. "Ugh, fine." He dropped a blue-faced and red-throated Spike to the canvas. "You're free, I guess."

"Let's remove these," Rex said, softly, ripping off Spike's underwear. The kid was out of it!

"We'll join in," Robbie said with a wink, taking off his jock and showing off his fat cock to his admirers.

Rex licked his lips. "We are big men, huh?" He tugged his briefs off. The largest of the three, Rex's uncut cock swang pendulously, making even authentic sluts like Robbie blushed.

Spike, dazed, bruised, and in pain, wasn't sure if he was in hell or in heaven. Like Tantalus, trapped between sweet waters and sweeter fruit, he couldn't move his neck up to take in either Rex or Wolf's lengths. 

"Look at that." Robbie said, turning Spike over. "Let's finish him with that cute bubble butt up." Indeed, Spike's best asset was a the bubble butt to end all other bubble butts--two perfectly sculpted spheres of soft, pink flesh. "Jaws of the Predators!"

Both Robbie and Rex wrapped their tree trunk legs around Spike, with Robbie's hocky legs taking is neck, and Rex's beastly thighs trapping Spike's mid section in a vice. Rex tugged on Spike's legs, and Robbie held back his arms so he couldn't escape.

"Ugggnnnn," Spike moaned, feeling both neck and back buckle under pressure. This was easly one of the worst (and hottest submissions) he had ever been placed in!

Thankfully, these heels were more merciful than most. "You give, cutie?" Robbie asked.

"YES! I GIVE!" There was no shame in it, Spike thought. He just knew if he passed out, he wouldn't be able to enjoy what happened next!

Triumphant in their takedown, Rex and Robbie planted their respective boots on Spike's still-sore back, drawing out another sharp cry from their defeated prey. Robbie and Rex both flexed their biceps for each other, with Rex giving Robbie a savage chest bump.

Then, a more tender, but animalistic kiss. The studs and opponent's knew their bodies. Hands travelled across sculpted, copper-colored muscles. Cocks rutted against each other, growing more swollen. Precum dripped on Spike's prone back like drops of rain.

The three men were so horned up, that all of them knew instinctually that they would not last long. Rex and Robbie took turns eating out Spike's hole, making the blond moan yet again (in far better circumstances) Greedy, Rex and Robbie pushed each other away, fighting over their meat, burying their face in. They made a contest of whose tongue could go in deeper, and make Spike moan harder.

Meanwhile, Spike, overcome with endorphins, entered a soporific trance. All is forgiven, he thought, drooling to himself as hunks ate him quite literally alive. He felt a wet puddle under his pelvis. He wouldn't even need to touch himself for long before he spilled everywhere. 

Rex wiped his face, and took the lead in bringing Spike to his feet by yanking on his sweaty, matted hair. "Heheh. WE GIVE HIM REAL FINISHING MOVE NOW."

Robbie lifted the entranced Spike up by the chin and kissed him hard and deep, exploring and violating his mouth with his tongue. "He's like our little sex toy," he said, wrapping his arms around Spike from the front, while Rex took the back. Both studs began grinding their meat on Spike, with Rex probing and teasing the crevasse of his ass cheeks, while Robbie's cock had its own wrestling match with Spike's. "Feel good, getting humped and rubbed on by two muscle studs?"

"Y-yes, Spike moaned." 

The two beasts were relentless. They humped and grinded on their prey, muscles tensing and flexing, coating Spike in their jock sweat. It was too much for Spike to bear.

"Oh shit," he cried out, "I'm gonna cum hard."

"Right there with you, pup," Robbie said, squinting. "Ohhh fuck." 

Like dual fountains, Spike and Robbie creamed at the same time, with Spike a consistent dribble, and Robbie's load thick and ropey. A small puddle formed near their feet, as they finished off with making out savagely, giving way to the beast within.

At the apex of his pleasure, Spike turned and looked at Rex. "Come on, Daddy. Mark your boy."

Rex did as told. "Right...against...your cute butt." He grunted and thrusted, wetting Spike's back with waves of cum.

All three men found themselves against the ropes, leaning back and falling into each other's arms with sighs and contented laughter. Spike, in the middle, cuddled by two mountains of muscle, received plenty of reassuring kisses, neck nibbles, and soft caresses. He felt like the real winner of this match.

That was until Robbie, with a mischievous glint, pointed to the puddle (pool, really) of milky white fluid in the center of the ring. "Loser has to clean up!"

Spike bit his lip, looking at the mess of his own making. "Aw, man! No fair!"

The End

Day of the Deadboy - Naughty Version

The crunch of loose pebbles and discarded candy bar wrappers drew Buck Tamberly's eyes downwards to twisting path ahead. Candles, likely placed by the target of Buck's consternation, dripped wax onto the road, and illuminated the hunched over, leather-speedo clad forms of Buck's peers. Eyes bewitch with ghostly glow, Sanjay and Blue Dragon moaned and looked up. The dark magi's magick had turned them into his puppets.

Fittingly, Buck found Deadboy Daemian--and his demon tag partner, Braxius, nestled on a throne made of skulls piled high. Deadboy munched down fiendishly on a Dracula Delight, one of Australia's ghoulish treats. The bright, cherry filling made it look like blood was dripping from his mouth. Deadboy's open mouth chewing was even more nauseating than the fact that he had turned almost all of Buck's employees into his zombie servants.

Caught in the act, Deadboy looked up and blinked at his new boss. "Oi!" he greeted, wiping cherry blood from his lips and giving Buck a mischievous, toothy grin. "Don't worry, the skulls are fake."

Behind him, Brax (whose enormous tail Daemian was using as a recline) turned the page of his self-help book (The Miraculous Power of Optimism) and yawned with a mouth full of fangs.

Buck looked down at the base of the throne. Tied in chains to a stake in the ground, was a leather-thong clad Spike, his head lolled to one side. He too had been bewitched.

Sighing, Buck greeted his wayward employee. "Happy birthday, Lachlan," he said, addressing Daemian by his real name. "Looks like Paris treated you mighty kind." He crossed his arms. Though Buck could only dream of becoming a Spellbreaking, of the lot, he was the least scared of the macabrely sexy, demonic sorcerer sitting before him. Then again, danger was one of Buck Tamberly's favorite turn-ons.

"Fuckin' oath," Daemian said, picking something out of his teeth and flicking it. He belched, loudly, lazily resting his angular jaw on his hand. "Those Alchemist c***ts thought they had a leg up on me. We might have lost the Chalice--which did alter my wicked plans--but I got something much better. Hehehe. A spell that us dark magi have been doin' our heads in tryin' to hunt for ages."

Buck scanned Daemian's face. This had already been a trying week before Deadboy and Icewolf showed up and bewitched half the staff, turning them into mindless ghouls. Fortunately, Buck--who didn't know much about magick, being unable to wield it himself--had help from some friends in high places (said 'high places' being the Ivory Tower of academia). "Yeah, Lily said they got their hands on some spooky tomes. You really were able to do all of this just by hearing an incantation just one time?"

"Always was a quick study," Deadboy said, grinning ever-so-innocently. Behind him, Brax gave Buck--the interim president of the GSA--the briefest of acknowledgments.

"You're smart, Lachlan. You hate to hear it, because it challenges your badboy personality, I'm sure. But it's true."

"What a sweet compliment," Deadboy said, though genuine or not, it was hard to tell. The demonic prince stood and stretched, showing off his rippling, sinewy arms, lined with muscles. He looked like a vampire turned Olypmic swimmer turned MMA fighter. "You know...Bucky, I can sniff out a fellow baddie. You're as sadistic as they can come. I can see the darkness inside you--definitely ain't your daddy's boy. Why not join up with me."

Buck cocked an eye. "Sniff me out?" He raised his armpit and bit his lip. "Shit, I knew I forgot something."

Deadboy licked his lips. "In addition to raising the dead..." Daemian leered, "I can be a bit of a pit pig. Whaddya say, mate? Join me. We can torture jobbers together. Do some really freaky shit."

Admittedly, it was tempting, Buck thought. Plus, it would show up his dad. Still, loyalty was loyalty.

Well, almost. "What have you done with Spike?"

"Mmmm. Blondie? Oh, he's totally my little slaveboy zombie now. So innocent. I told him he was my boyfriend. But I can be a bit...unfaithful." He winked.

Buck was not amused. "Hell, stud, you got good taste. But here's where you're wrong about blondie. You don't go around playing with a heart like that. He's something special. You might be right, boy. I got the heel streak in me--definitely do. But I break bones, not hearts. You're messin' with my friend. And I don't like that very much."

Deadboy scowled, and behind him, Brax let out a soft, concerned groan. "Huh. Sounds like the Bereft heir to the GSA has a crush. On my property."

"Forget it, Deadboy. I'm still your boss. And HR needs to have a word with you about your...behavior."

Daemian stuck out his tongue. "Aww, why can't you let me have fun!?"

"Deadboy, you know I like a nasty heel as much as anybody else, but your antics are really starting to stress me out. I'm doing my best to keep this ship in shape and you're..." he gestured broadly to the huddled zombies around them.

"What? You don't like what I've done with the place?"

Buck's eyes fell upon enslaved Spike, his muscular form barely constrained by chain and the six inch piece of leather holding back his immodesty. "I like some things you've done. But it's gotta' stop."

Deadboy glowered. "And what is someone without a glyph gonna do? I like ya, Buck. You're a sadist like me. But if you interfere in my fun, we're gonna have some problems, mate."

Don't tempt with a good time, Buck thought, his dad's warnings of 'not shitting where you eat' coming back to haunt him just as much as the specters swirling around the bewitched woodland on the GSA that Deadboy had turned into his hellish throne. "Yeah, I figured you'd be difficult."

"The only idiot who could even stand a chance against me now is White Tiger," Daemian said. "And he's busy with the tournament. Nobody is gonna save you, Bucky boy. This is MY kingdom now!"

From the shadowy bushes, a familiar, accented voice spoke. "Psss. Presidente, Is this where I come in?" 

"I'm still doing the diplomacy thing," Buck whispered back. He re-addressed Damian. "So, I guess I'm gonna have HR speak to you after all...." 

Deadboy rolled his heavily-lined eyes. "Ugh, and what pencil-necked little sap is the head of human resources? Besides, human resources doesn't apply to Brax."

"Inhuman resources does, but Brax is a model employee, so that's not a concern." Buck cleared his throat. "You can come now."

The branches parted. A statuesque figure, bulging with muscles (and with only a purple speedo to cover them up) stood tall and heroic, with hands posed on hips. The mask mine's smile lit up the dark. "It is I, El Amante Intoxico! Warrior of Love! Defender of the Heart! New appointed human resources manager!" He struck a new pose. "If there is a hatred in this world, then I shall put it to the sword! If there is terror in the night, then it stands no match for my might! If there is an OSHA violation, then the correct paperwork shall be filed in a timely and ORDERLY FASHION!" El Amante flexed. Around him, the zombified members of the GSAW moaned and swooned.

Deadboy, on his throne of skulls, stood tall and grit his teeth, spitting down at the imposing luchador. "Nobody makes my zombies moan and swoon but me! YOU!? The great masked himbo? YOU'RE Bucky's little lapdog?"

El Amante stared at the pile of skulls and put his finger to his chin in deep contemplation. "This is a fire hazard. It must go. And also," he pointed at Deadboy, "YOU need to be taken down a peg, amigo."

Buck shrugged. "Iggy said that the only way to take down a Scorpio was with another Scorpio." Buck pointed to the scorpion tattoo on El Amante's bulging shoulder. "As a Virgo, I don't believe in astrology, but Iggy has never been wrong."

"UGH, I thought that light magi was on my side! What about my nemsis. White Tiger. Where's HE? Afraid to fight his old lov--I mean RIVAL, I bet!"

"He's taking care of actual threats," Buck said through his teeth. "You know, like Firebird. Sounds like you and Rage were getting chummy, so I had him go hit the pavement and do a little recon." Buck nodded to the smiling, muscular, masked man at his side. "Fortunately, my dad has a thing for babyfaces, so we got some heroes to spare."

El Amante held up a finger. "Ah, ah, ah. Tecnico."

"Yeah, what he said."

Deadboy kicked a skull off his throne. It tumbled and fell at the masked man's feet. The dark magi's eyes went pure black, shining with dark and dreamy wickedness. "Well, fine. You want to lock up, Romeo? You'll make a fun plaything." He growled. "We'll do it your lucha libre way too. I'll wear a mask and put it on the line! All the better for when I rip yours off and cut open your handsome face."

El Amante smirked. "You want to challenge ME to a masked fight? Silly, little Australian. Well, if that is the poison you wish to pick..." His eyes glowed pink. "Then prepare to taste my venom, chico. We settle this at midnight."

Next to him, Buck caught the brunt of El Amante's love magick. "Oh wow. This is hot."

"Do not make me file a harassment complaint," El Amante said, turning up his nose. "I have a Deadboy to wrangle."

"I can't believe this is the venue," Buck said to Icewolf (the only other GSA member not zombified), as he stared at the ring in the middle of the old cemetery.

Robbie was more sullen than usual. Ever since Paris, he and Deadboy had parted ways. "Scary Bro said I wasn't even worth zombifying," Robbie sniffed.

"Awww buddy. You're worth that and more." Buck winced. He wasn't very good at the whole 'cheering up' thing, but he was happy to have one less problem to worry about in Robbie, who was now on a self-proclaimed 'redemption arc' to try and win back Cian's heart (which he never had to begin with...)

A low mist crept along the ground, turning the ring into an island in a sea of craggy headstones. Hundreds of votive candles dotted the ground, adding a touch of ethereal beauty to the gloom. Next to Buck, Robbie, dressed as a teenage werewolf (complete with tufts of fur stuck to his handsome face) removed his letterman jacket and handed Buck a pumpkin spice flavored beer. "Well...Happy Day of the Dead, broski," Icewolf said to his friend and boss. "You think Daemian could really unmask El Amante?"

The dreadful thought hadn't actually occurred to Buck. He was supposed to be acting as a manager for these boys; watching out for any bad career moves. Granted, the only two 'conscious' spectators (besides the zombified GSA boys at ringside) were Buck and Icy. But Buck knew luchadors had very strict codes of honor. An unmasking was humiliating.

"Deadboy has way less to lose since he always shows his face," Buck pointed out, grimly. "El Amante must be really confident."

"Or cocky," Icewolf winked. "If his face gets unmasked. I'm totally gonna smooch the hell out of it."

"You'll have Iggy Astro to deal with then, bud."

Icewolf huffed. "Well, I'll smooch them too. Hey," Robbie said, nudging Buck, "Check out Spike in that skimpy little leather number, eh? You gonna have fun with him?"

"Not while he's a zombie!" Buck nodded to the aisle of candles leading to the ring. "Check it. It's starting."

"Cool, cool. So, who's the ref?"

Buck and Icewolf looked at each other. Buck's mouth dropped. "SHIT! I forgot to hire a ref!"

"Awww as if that would ever stop ME," came a malevolent, echoing voice. A green light shone down on the earth in front of the candle-lit aisle. The ground shook, lines in the Earth like breaks in skin, giving way to upturned soil. A black coffin emerged from the ground, swinging open to reveal its evil inhabitant with his hands cross his chest, leaning against plushy red velvet. Deadboy's outfit was his standard black briefs and half torn tights, but now he wore a fiendish, skull-printed black luchador mask across his head. Sharp plastic fins, like a razor mohawk, lined the top. 

Even Buck and Icewolf shivered. "Damn, that's a creepy look," Buck said.

Flanked by his zombie followers, the malicious (and mischievous) Deadboy shuffled with a feral gait towards the ring. "What a beautiful night for a CURSE," he snarled, waving his hand over his hypnotised followers. Their eyes glowed bright red. He made them turn, about-face, towards the still 'unturned' spectators sitting in folding chairs. "You two c***ts are NEXT."

Icewolf pointed to himself, dumbly, and spat out his beer. "But...I was your bro! I HELPED you get this far!"

Buck whipped his head towards him. "I knew dad said you were trouble."

"I was BORED AND HORNY," Robbie grunted. "Deadboy, quit the shit! You're ruining my chances with Cian! Er...I mean, redeeming myself! Yeah!"

Climbing to the top rope, Deadboy leaned forward with a twist. His long tongue stuck out of his mask. "That's what you get for making a pact with a DEMON!" He pointed to Spike, chained to a rinside post, drooling onto his chest. "That himbo was your only hope. With all of you turned, and Iggy and El Amante to follow suit, I'll raise my zombie army against White Tiger! The Divine Chalices you collected will be mine. I'll be the one who takes down Firebird. And then, the WORLD will be mine! HAHAHAAHAHA!"

It was probably the most clumsy, least intimidating, and plainly stupid villain monologue that Buck had ever heard. He was now more annoyed than concerned. 

From the opposite 'aisle', the mists parted. El Amante's broad shouldered (and larged pectoral'd) shape was unmistakable, but even Buck did a double-take at his interesting choice of outfit. El Amante was prone to showing off his body in the tightest, skimpiest little briefs possible, to the point that even Colt bemoaned the masked fighter's 'lucky thong' always sticking out of his trunks. Tonight, on this strange and exciting occasion, the masked 'Warrior of Love' (and employee payroll) wore a tight fitting singlet. It didn't do anything to make the beefcake more modest--if anything, his pecs threatened to break the lycra straps at any minute, and his bulge was...obvious--but his overall look was truly something to behold. A colorful 'Day of the Dead' inspired outfit, complete with a sugar skull mask. 

"Papi, this is art," Buck said, jaw dropping. He caught El Amante's eye. He looked serious. Buck almost wish he hadn't said anything.

But the jovial luchador was glad to attend to his audience. Hands on hip, he looked around. "Crowd's a bit...dead tonight, huh?"

Somewhere in the shadows, Brax laughed hollowly Deadboy shot him a dark look. "How DARE you laugh at my opponent's puns?"

Buck ignored his unruly employee. "Thank you for coming," Buck sighed, experiencing a momentary pang of relief. "Really...I wanted to handle this by myself."

El Amante put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, inadvertently causing Buck's neck hairs to stand up with. 

"All you had to do was ask, pobrecito. Asking for help isn't tapping out. It's tagging in." He looked over his shoulder and glared at the sneering skeleton waiting for him in the red corner. "Don't worry. I know exactly what Deadboy needs..."

El Amante flipped over the top rope, landing with poise and shaking the ring. Deadboy responded with a loud belch.

"You know nothing of the honor of the mask," El Amante said with a sternly pointed finger (to which Deadboy yawned). "Guess I'll have to tear that ridiculous looking thing off of you, eh?"

This only pissed off the delicious demon even more! He wiped his nose and puffed out his chest, drawing closer to his foe. "Heh. You're like me, chook. I can smell the darkness in you."

"My name is Victor, NOT chook! And I know the darkness well enough. The difference is that I know how to tame it. Just like I'll tame you."

The two men, both in skeletal attire, demonic blood running in their veins, stared at each other with glowing eyes--pink and green. After a few seconds of stare down, chests pushed together, Daemian cocked his head to the side.

"Uh...bell?"

"Oh right!" Rex piped up. He ran over to the bell table and gave it a good strike with a conjured up icicle. 

Deadboy and El Amante went for the lockup, teeth gritting and arms bulging. Midway through, Deadboy pulled back with a cheeky 'arms in the air' pose, with Daemian glaring in confusion. Then, El Amante went in for his signature 'male stripper' dance, swivelling his hips to imaginary bachata music, even turning to give Deadboy a good look at this butt wiggling in his tight singlet. 

Daemian seethed. "I'll fuck you UP, mate!" He went for a deadly strike with his boot.

But El Amante had anticipated this. It was trap. He grabbed Deadboy by the ankle and spun him around, forcing him off his feet. Still, Deadboy was an expert gymnast, and was able to turn the stumble into a donkey kick, striking El Amante right where it hurt!

"UNGH!" El Amante said, clutching his nuts. From ringside, Buck and Icewolf winced and covered up their own tender areas out of sympathetic reflex. 

"You needed to be neutered," Deadboy sneered. He didn't waste his larger opponent's stunned state, running up, wrapping his hands around El Amante's neck, and brinding him down for a snapmare.

It hit, but El Amante was made of sturdy stuff, and was able to roll out. Still dazed, and with a sore neck, he pivoted onto his feet from his back--a breath taking feat of athleticism. "You like kicks, eh, zombie boy?" He delivered a roundhouse to Deadboy's chest, hitting him hard. Then, he pulled the evil spellbreaker's head in-between his thighs, clamping down tightly.

"Bet you wanted to be caught inside these," El Amante laughed, mockingly. "Let's dance!" 

He gyrated his hips, in the process grinding Deadboy's sensitive neck between his monster muscle quads. It was humiliating as it was painful, even more when El Amante jumped up and planted Deadboy's face into the mat.

He went for the roll up pin. "One...two..."

Deadboy kicked out and flipped over, flipping off El Amante in the process. El Amante rose, smirking, to face him. He gave him the "come on" wave with his hands.

Buck turned to Icewolf. "This is goooood. I wish Dad could see this!"

Robbie gave Buck a rare, thoughtful response. "He'd be real proud, eh, bro?" His watery eyes trembled. "But bro, I'm proud, bro."

The nightmarish Aussie surveyed El Amante's mask and its iconography. "A bleeding heart," Deadboy sneered, forming his hand into a claw. "I think it needs more blood!" Tendrils of shadow formed on Deadboy's black-polished fingernails, turning his hand into a claw of cold darkness. He took a swipe at the masked man.

El Amante pivoted back and stepped away with the grace of a dancer. Deadboy went again, and again, earning him a bored 'tsk tsk' from the colorful fighter. He scooped him up by the crotch and threw Deadboy into the canvas without breaking a sweat.

And he wouldn't give him the luxury of getting back onto his feet so quickly either. El Amante yanked Deadboy up by his skull-mask (though his tecnico code prevented him from ripping it off until the match was won). Into position, El Amante pressed his knee into the sensitive part between Deadboy's shoulders, wrapped his hands around his chin, and yanked the zombie stud back into a a cavernaria.

"Oooh," Buck, impressed, said. "Classic lucha libre move right there." He didn't realize he had become an impromptu commentator. It came natural to him, a lover of a the sport. "I think I see what El Amante is going for. Defeating Deadboy with traditional moves."

Deadboy grunted but did not submit.

"You bring people pain because it gives you pleasure," El Amante said, with his mix of brash heroism and gentle cordiality--even whilst trying to seperate a man's shoulder blades from his body. "I bring them pain because it gives them pleasure. Here. Looks like you need a taste."

El Amante's eyes glowed a soft pink, and the sinister lighting over the arena became a gentle, rosy haze.

For a moment, Deadboy's eyes rolled into the back of his head, and he began drooling like a hound getting his belly rubbed. "Fuckin'...oath."

"Hehe. You like it?" El Amante dug in further with his knee, pulling Deadboy's neck back slower. "The goal is not to crank on the move, but go slow. Pain and pleasure light up similar parts of the brain. Eventually, the sensory overload will make you pass out...in a way that may be embarrassing to you, calaverito. You should save yourself the trouble and give, and then I can kiss you all over when that mask is off."

"Blegh!" Deadbopy spat, snapping out of it. His eyes grew dark, solid black, and the gentle aura around the ring faded. "You're gonna' give me diabetes, sugar skull. You want some traditional moves? I'll show you how we do it down under!"

El Amante didn't notice the conjured up, dark fist behind his back, until the last second. He tried to dodge, but it whapped him on the cheek, knocking him sideways and forcing him to break the hold.

Deadboy snapped up and struck El Amante in the chin. While he was dazed, he jumped up to the top rope with a vampiric, fluid motion, perching on top of the chord like a dark carrion bird. With no time for snark (what a pity) Deadboy jumped into the air and aimed his steel-toed boots right for El Amante's face.

The luchador dodged by a fraction of an inch, his skull nearly knocked off by what would have been a match-ending manoeuvre. Deadboy landed on his feet, shaking the ring and no worse for wear, but he had left himself open.

Forget defeating him with classic techniques, El Amante thought, leaping onto his opponent, I gotta' put this sick dog down quick!"

El Amante went for a simple, but effective, sitting arm bar. Deadboy's pale, skeletal arm, knotted with muscles, bent behind his back. El Amante's long, luscious hair stuck to his pectorals, now slick with sweat. He put the hold on tighter. There would be no nice, 'romance' for Deadboy now. Only pain.

"If you do not tap, then I am afraid I may have to break your arm," El Amante said, annoyed. "But don't worry. I'll fix it after." Though he may have to fill out an incident report. Dios mio, is that ethical if I'm the one who caused the injury!? I'll have to check the manual when I get back. 

Instead of crying out in pain from his arm second from being snapped off, Deadboy cackled maniaclly, filling the air with sharp laughter, and making his entranced zombie co-workers at ringside bristle. "Do it, you masked clown!"

"Tch." El Amante looked down and bit his lip. He could. He'd done it before. But...

"Heh, I fuckin' knew it. Because you're weak, possum! Fine. I'll do it myself."

CRACK

Smiling all the while, Deadboy jerked back and didn't just fracture his own arm, but broke it off cleanly, wrenching it from from a shocked and horrified El Amante in the process.

Buck and Robbie looked at each other once, before turning in seperate directions and spilling their guts all over the graveyard lawn.

"Hahahah! Oh, that tickles," Deadboy said, grinning all the while and watching El Amante draw back in horror. He snapped his own arm back onto his shoulder, healing in rapid time with his dark powers. "See? That's not so bad. Not as bad as what I'm about to do to you."

Deadboy snapped his fingers.

El Amante looked side to side, detecting the sharp spike in magickal energy. From the shadows of the ring corners, four chains of violet-black darkness shot out, wrapping themselves around El Amante's limbs, and binding him to the spot.

"Agh!" He cried out. The chains weren't just impossibly strong, but they burned pain into his chest. El Amante bent forward, his hair dangling pendulously in front of his face. He tugged on the chains, his muscles bulging, sweat pouring off his body in drops of dew. Nothing worked. He was bound.

"This is what I like to see," Deadboy said, biting his lip. He drew closer to El Amante, stabbing his finger into his opponent's chin and lifting up his head to look at him. "All that meat-head muscle, and still....so helpless. I think I'll take my time as I remove your mask, cutie. And then, I'm gonna cut a nice long gash into your pretty face. Give you a NEW, better mask! A crimson one! HAHAHAHAAHAHA!" 

El Amante glared at him. "Poor Deadboy."

"Huh? WHAT!? Don't try that hero shit, mate. I know you're scared. Just like you can detect all those sickly sweet vibes, I can smell fear. You're quaking in that little thong of yours."

"Scared? Oh, yes. For you. You hurt yourself just to hurt others." El Amante looked to his glassy-eyed coworkers, some of who he had trained, all of whom he loved, slumped at the side of the ring. "You do all of this. Why?"

Deadboy shivered. "B-because it's fun!"

"I see it, chico. A lonely childhood. Just like mine. Scared. You've been scared all your life. So, you fight back by trying to be more terrifying. You fear people will hurt you, or leave you, so you enslave them with your dark magick. Your loss to White Tiger must have really been the last straw, eh? Imagine, going from champion to disgraced. Completely loved for all your wickedness, to being bound and having your gear taken as trophy by a hero."

The temperature in the arena suddenly dropped. The clouds in the sky draped themselves over the moon, casting the already dark arena into deeper darkness. Deadboy's head drooped, his face hidden further beneath his mask. Without noise, more chains and tendrils of darkness sprouted from the ring, the Earth. The zombies of the GSA moaned and shuddered, drawing back. 

Behind them, peering from around a mausoleum, the demon Brax, Deadboy's tag partner, growled low. "Not...again," he said. "I will...have to....intervene." The hulking beast stepped forward, ready to enter the fray and disrupt the match (for all their sakes), but a chain of darkness shot out from beneath his clawed foot, grabbing him by the ankle.

"GRRRR!" Eyes red, Brax looked towards the ring and shouted. "LACHLAN! STOP THIS MADNESS."

"...Stop..." Daemian said, softly. A green glow appeared in his eyes. Then, the smile, manic and raw. "STOP!? YOU WANT ME TO STOP? WE'RE NOT GONNA STOP! WE'RE JUST GETTING STARTED! HAHAHAHAHAHA! SCARED!? I'LL SHOW YOU ALL WHAT SCARED LOOKS LIKE!!" Heaving like a beast from the underworld, and head bent backwards, Daemian made a motion with his hands. "I...bring...HELL."

With hollowing, echoing words, Deadboy incanted the spell muttered by the Alchemist in the dank catacombs. 

"P̶͖͉͠à̵̳̮ř̶͖̮g̴̋͗ͅo̴̢̡̚͝n̴̰͚͑͒ ̷̙͐t̸̨̧̾͊í̶̡͖̃e̶̡͘ř̸͇̗͘ ̵̯̠̀̾ă̴̜r̶̨̳̾e̵̠͑̑t̷̨͇͝e̶̫̿͠k̶̟̈!̴͈̠̋̓"

The ground beneath the ring trembled. Deadboy's zombies moaned in anguish. El Amante, whose binds had not tightened, but remained fastened, tried to break free again. Nothing. He locked eyes with Deadboy. He would show no fear.

The soil in front of the faded and eroded tombstones fell away. Dirty, skeletal hands, burst out from the ground.

Buck jumped out of his eat, looking to Robbie. "Shit, what's going on?"

The hunky Canadian tried to make sense of the surroundings. "T-this is evil. Pure, dark magic." He gulped. "Necromancy, bro!"

The dead, in droves, crawled from their graves. Some of them still wore their funeral attire. The older of their lot were nothing but bones, their clothing long since rotted away. From their hollow orbitals, a sinister green glow sprouted, and cast the arena in an evil light.

Deadboy beckoned to his army of darkness. Bones rattled, coming closer to the arena. Buck and Robbie cowered, hugging each other for security.

"Bucky," Robbie panicked, "It's bones."

"Behold, youse cunts," Deadboy proclaimed, hands stretching out towards his 'children'. "My army of darkness. I was just going to bloody you up, El Amante. But look what you made me do? I'm going to have my army of the dead RIP you to shreds and feast on that hunky body of yours! Right in front of the eyes of your helpless coworkers. And then? I'm gonna do the same to White Tiger, and THEN Firebird! I'll be the champion of the damn world, and I will turn into my own hellscape!" 

"Hehehe."

"Huh?" Deadboy's eyes shifted back to normal. He blinked. "WHAT? You're...laughing? You're not honestly laughing, are you? Didn't you just hear what I was about to bloody do?"

El Amante smiled. "Oh, little Lachie. You make the dead your playthings. But they are not puppets. They are people. And they are loved."

Around the ring, the skeletons suddenly froze in their tracks.

Deadboy looked around, wildly, tearing at his own mask. "What?!"

"Your birthday is over, Daemian. It's now Día De Los Muertos. The day when the dead come back...not to harm, but to celebrate!"

The green glow from the skeletons faded. Instead of drawing closer, the masses of the dead stopped at ringside. The air filled with a rattling, percussive sound.

Buck looked around. "What's...They're...clapping? Robbie, they're applauding."

"Silly Deadboy. You didn't raise an army. You gave us a crowd!" 

Now, it was time for Deadboy to be afraid. Mouth agape, he put his back against the ropes. But there was nowhere for him to run. He was surrounded. Without fear to wield against others, he lost control on his magick.

El Amante grunted, and flexed, his muscles tearing through the chains as if they were made of smoke. He brushed his shoulders and tossed back his hair, giving Buck and Robbie a flirty wink.

"Ohhh," the two spectators sighed in unisons, falling back into their chairs. "He's sooooo dreamy."

"These treats and tricks of yours might scare other people, Lachlan. But I am not 'people'." The big stud smiled. "For I am the god of love!" He flashed another grin at the crowd. "Tricks and treats. Because it was just Halloween. Get it?"

Deadboy was beside himself. But he wasn't done yet. "Grrr! There IS no Aztec god of love!" With his dark powers dampered from the ego blow, he would have to rely on his skill now. He charged forward. 

"There is NOW!" El Amante shouted, running the ropes and bouncing off for momentum. "And for your information, I'm Mayan." He jumped, catching Deadboy by the neck. "And YOU are history." With his thighs around Deadboy's beck, he flipped the main over in the air, and slammed him down, headfirst, into the mat, with a flawless and elegant hurricanrana.

Deadboy's skull was rocked. "Unnnnnggg..." he moaned, just like one of his zombies.

"This is it!" Buck said. "He's gonna do his finisher. I used to play this one back on tape all the time." He blushed. "It was totally my awakening."

El Amante didn't have to worry about Deadboy getting up after that. Still, he needed to be put down. El Amante, smiling warmly, leaned down and positioned himself against Deadboy, hosting him up to face him. He looked lovingly into his eyes, still darting around post-concussive strike.

"Time to end this nightmare. Only sweet dreams for you..."

Smooch.

The masked hunk grabbed Deadboy around the neck in a reverse nelson, practically driving the defeated heel's chin into his sternum. As Deadboy grunted and moaned, El Amante slide his hand down and compressed his hands around Deadboy's carotid artery, depriving his head oxygenhelped, of course, by the suffocating and relentless kiss the masked fighter piled onto him.

"Mmmnggg!" Deadboy struggled and wined, his eyes watering. His seizing eventually ceased, and he fell forward, limp, and drooling.

El Amante wiped his mouth and let Deadboy's hands drop slowly. "Uno...dos...tres! That is it! LOVE WINS!"

The skeletons and zombies at ringside applauded El Amante, who did a little dance for the crowd. Meanwhile, the GSA team snapped out of their zombie state. The enchantment was shattered.

Spike, chained to the post still, blinked. "Huh?" He looked down at himself. The chain. The leather thong. He smiled. "Looks like I had a fun night. What's going on?" He glanced over at the strange, skinny audience. "Wow, those are some awesome Halloween outfits! I didn't know we were set to have a home Halloween match. The last thing I remember was..." He noticed El Amante flexing over Deadboy. "Victor? And...who's the dummy in the skeleton mask. No. WAIT!? DEADBOY!?"

"It WAS Deadboy," El Amante laughed, hands on hips, tapping the drooling, white-eyed and unconscious fiend with the front of his shoe. "I don't think he'll be doing any spellbreaking matches for awhile. Though, perhaps he will change his ways."

The skeletons slunk back into their earthly abodes, happy to have seen such an exciting match. Unseen, but perhaps present, the spirits of the dead enjoyed their return to the world of the living, leaving the once-ensorcelled spellbreakers standing around the ring more than a little bit confused. 

"Now..." El Amante leaned forward and grabbed at Deadboy's mask, peeling it off of him in strips of cheap fabric. "Wow, that craftsmanship on this is shoddy. I will have to take you to my guy in Juarez if you ever want to do this againe. You have much to learn before you can become a real, masked spellbreaker, little boy."

Deadboy's head lolled out of the torn mask and onto the canvas, revealing the handsome, pale, slumbering face of a hardly intimidating punk with messy, black hair.

"I like you better this way," El Amante said, ruffling his defeated opponent's head. "You look sweeter and you don't cause trouble. Now, let me give you a wakeup kiss." And let's see what we can do to make you a bit more happier...for all our sakes.

El Amante straddled Daemian and leaned in for a long kiss, pumping him full of good energy. The two beefcakes took on a pink aura.

Deadboy's eyes fluttered open. Stripped of his dark designs, he looked remarkably innocent. "Fuck, mate, I just had the best nap of my...huh?" He spat. "Ew! Himbo drool."

El Amante reeled back, shocked, but not because of his opponent's reaction. He cocked his head to the side, and, making sure nobody could read his lips, whispered to Daemian. "So, White Tiger. All for him?"

The cockiness and mania in Deadboy's eyes faded. He looked away, pouting. "Please...don't say anything."

"Cariño, your secret is safe with me."El Amante smiled, and kissed Deadboy's bare cheek. "We can talk about it later, stud."

"Blegh! No we won't." Deadboy tried to push the big man off him, but it was like trying to get out from beneath a ton of bricks. "Get your sweaty hands....Ooohhh. Fuck."

El Amante had placed his palms to Deadboy's bare chest, injecting him with a heavy dose of love venom. Deadboy's brain burst with endorphins and positive energy.

"There we go!" El Amante. "Just relax, Deadboy. I know what you need." He winked. "A bit of love." El Amante held his prey tight, in an embrace just beneath the force of a reverse bear hug (of course, it didn't take much; El Amante's muscles were unrivalled). The masked man soft kissed the nape of Deadboy's neck.

The defeated, dark magi punk wriggled like a worm. "EW! No..NO I hate lo---ooohhhh fucccck." How quickly his tune changed as El Amante's potent love magick took effect, turning Deadboy's brain into melting chocolate, and filling his vulnerable, wily torso with sensation.

"So high strung!" El Amante laughed lightly. He caressed Daemian's cheek, assaulting him with more kisses on the most sensitive parts of Deadboy's beck and back. "Just let Papi do all the work." His hands moved down, grabbing fistfuls of the pale mage's pectorals, working on his nips.

Spike giggled, summoning the other boys over to watch. Kengo blushed, and Gio laughed, but Spike wasn't shy about taking a few tugs on his own junk as he watched El Amante do what he did best. 

"No..." Daemian fought back weakly, going hard. "Oooh yessss."

"Let's see what we have here," Deadboy said, reaching into Daemian's trunks. "Do you want to see it, boys?"

"Hell yeah," Spike said.

Daemian was in no position to fight back. He watched helplessly as his long, uncut cock spilled out for all of his peers to see. However, he had nothing to be ashamed of.

Gio whistled. Spike gulped. "Yep. He's definitely Australian."

Though enchanted, cocky Daemian grinned at his audience. "Like what you--"

"Shhhh," El Amante said, sticking a prying finger into his moth. "Relax,: he whispered, tonguing Daemian's ear. "Be a good boy for papi. Do what he says. Wow, you're leaking a lot. I think you needed this."

"Nnooo," Daemian trembled, eyes rolling back into his head. His precume was like a river, going down on his thigh. Somehow, all those prying eyes watching him get stroke and handled by a bigger man, turned him on even more. It was rare he felt helpless. It was, he silently admitted, a refreshing change of pace.

El Amante cradled Deadboy tighter, not letting up for a second on his twisting strokes. "More like a cow than a fighter," he said. "Getting milked by a big muscle man. You love it, chico. You want to give me your load right in front of everyone. I know you want it. The freedom of feeling vulnerable in a safe space. Well, chcio, I'm the safest space there is. And now you know what it's like to be dominated." El Amante whispered this next part. "Even more than White Tiger dominated you. You're mine now."

With all of his being, Deadboy shuddered. "Oh fuck."

The moment was now. "Say it." El Amante nibbled his ears, and sloweed his strokes, picking up on Deadboy's senses to maximize the perfect motion, from base to shaft. "Here's a classic luchador technique they won't show you on televison. How's it feel?Come on, chico, say it. Shoot a load right there all over your mask and ruin that silly thing."

"Not my mask," Deadboy stammered, but it was no use. "FUCK! Yes, Papi, I give! I GIVE."

Daemian shot a creamy blast, wet at first, and then thick and ropey, all over his mask. He didn't stop either. He squeeled, arching his back into El Amante, who wouldn't let up.

"Every drop, boy. On that mask. Ruin it."

"FFFFFUCK!!!!"

Jaw hanging loose, Spike stepped away from the ring. "Wow."

Finally, El Amante relented with a final kiss. It was too much for Deadboy, who felt down right next to his ruined, soaked mask.

Spike was happy to yank off his collar and toss it right next to him. "Hmph. Serves you right, dick. You must be humiliated."

"I am..." Deadboy moaned. Then, his evil smiled returned. "And I bloody love it!"

"Huh?" Spike backed up.

Confusing even his aggressor, Deadboy sprouted up, glowing with post-orgasmic energy.  "I'm a dirty, twisted freak. Shoot ropes in front of my mates? You think THAT'S where I draw the line." He pulled El Amante to him and gave him a long kiss, finishing it licking the masked stud's lips in a snake like fashion. El Amante was half disgusted and half amused.

"D-Daemian! Oh, you are a naughty boy."

Clad only in moonlight, and cock still dripping, the proud punk stood in front of his peers, who oggled his lanky, sexy form. He jabbed a thumb into his chest. "Damn right! I'm the naughtiest. And don't you forget it, losers! Hey, masked man. Why don't we combine our powers. Turn this into a den of dark, deviant delights." He gave El Amante a sly look.

El Amante stood, bowing to his opponent with a gentlemanly floirsh. "Er...I think that's too many D's."

"Not yet!" Deadboy said, looking at his audience. "Hehehe."

Spike sighed. "Like a slasher movie villain, he just keeps getting back up again..."

The End!