Chapter 11: Let's Dance

"HOLY SH***"

Death was a lot noisier than Spike expected. He wanted to sleep. His eyes fluttered open, senses coming back online. It was hard to keep his eyes open. Sleep. Sleep was good.

"Daemian, please do not swear. You know it makes me uncomforta--HOLY SH**"

Where Spike had just been had been nothing but calm. A tranquillity still embraced him, but now everything suddenly felt more real. His body ached. His head throbbed. His vision blurred. Who were these familiar voices? What did they want? Why had they been calling his name?

"I'll get the nurse! Spike, bicha, I swear if you don't wake up I will break both your arms."

Iggy? Iggy wants to break my arm? They always want to break my arm. So...rude...

Spike's eyes fluttered open unto halogen light. For a moment, he thought he might actually be in Heaven. Then, he saw Deadboy's face--a rare mix of concern and surprise.

Spike groaned. "I'm in Hell. I guess that tracks..."

Daemian glared. "That's what you say to the bloke who BROUGHT YOU BACK FROM THE DEAD, C***?"

This was real. Spike wondered if this was what it was like to be born--to come back into existence. Everything was so strange, even though it should be familiar. Deadboy just stared at him. So odd to see him look concerned.

"Why...the hell is your hair like that?" Spike said slowly.

Gobsmacked, Deadboy--wearing a cut-off jean jacket, ran his fingers through his dark mullet, streak with purple. "You've been asleep for a bloody week and the first thing you want to do is make fun of my haircut?" Daemian's lip quivered slightly, before he threw his arms around Spike's neck. "You little idiot."

Spike turned his weary head, ready to pass out again. He was in a hospital bed. IV drip in his arms. EKG. He just knew he looked like shit. "A...week?" he said, as his eyes scanned a bedside table stacked high with get-well-cards and flowers. He recognized some of the handwriting. He certainly recognized Buck's art (damn, great pic of me holding the title belt). Spike looked toward Kengo, dressed (rather fetchingly) in a suit and tie. The lanyard around his neck confused Spike, but he was in no position to demand elaboration.

"The spirits are good," Kengo whispered under his breath. "Roomie. We thought..." His eyes filled with tears. "We brought you back from the..." Kengo shook his head. Daemian and I."

Spike groaned. His head hurt. He felt like someone had opened him up and stuffed him with cotton. Pinned on the wall next to him was a simply designed, woven dreamcatcher.

"Robbie made that for you," Daemian said, cracking open a can of coke and sitting in the chair next to Spike. "Said he wanted you to have good dreams. Did it work?"

Spike remembered everything, though he could not place when it had happened--his meeting his dad (if that were real), and seeing Salim in the 'metaphor thing' that had taken the shape of John Henry's gym. "I think so. I...I saw my dad."

Daemian blinked. "Oath?"

Spike nodded. "Oath." 

"Oh. Then you must have really died." Daemiain shrugged, put his can down, and belched loudly. He rested his Doc Martin's on Spike's bed. "Kengo and I used our glyphs to try and bring your soul back while the docs did their thing."

"There is no medical explanation for what happened to you," Kengo said. placing a cold, wet towel on Spike's forehead. "You absorbed a lot of energy. It completely short circuited your nervous system. You were clinically dead for quite some time. It is a miracle you stabilized."

Spike tried not to pass out, hearing this information alone. "A week, you said?" He thought about it. "Does that mean...?"

"Ha!" Daemian laughed. "Yeah. Bedpan. Don't worry--wasn't Ken and me changin' it."

He wasn't even embarrassed about that. In fact, Spike wanted to laugh, but his chest hurt. His life hurt. 

"We're in New York City," Kengo told Spike. "St. Milia Hospital in Manhattan. It is a very good one. They treat a lot of injuries like yours here, so I thought..."   

"I thought it felt a lot like home," Spike said, smiling. "Still...something feels...off..."

He tried to crane his neck, but Kengo gently encouraged him to stay still. Though Spike didn't have enough energy to process what was going on, there were tell-tale signs of something being...off, that bothered him. There was black box on the wall, with bright red numbers. It took Spike several seconds to realize it was some sort of time display.

"What the hell is that thing?" Spike said, nodding to the object. 

Kengo looked over his shoulder. "Oh? It is a clock."

"THAT'S a clock?"

Daemian and Kengo's eyes met. "Oh no, he doesn't realize..."

But before Spike could utter the obvious 'realize WHAT?' the sound of oncoming footsteps, and a whole team of medical staff, drew his eyes towards the door.

Nurses and doctors flocked to Spike's bedside, muttering shocked medical phraseology that Spike couldn't even begin to understand. Besides, he was too distracted by the tall, muscular figure in the tight shirt and light-pink blazer. Their crossly cropped hair, almost a mohawk, threw Spike completely off.

"Ig...Iggy?"

Spike's malicious mentor smiled. "Bom dia, sleepy head." Iggy posed, letting free a small shower of sprakles. "What do you think of the new do?"

"You got new hair too?" Spike asked, confused. "Why does everyone have new hair? Did we all treat ourselves to the salon after savin' the world, or what?"

"Ah, yeah...about that." Iggy nodded to the doctors. "Let's...get you back on your feet first before we blow your mind."

Spike felt dizzy. "My mind's already been blown for one lifetime, friend."

Spike's fatigue soon caught up with him (as did the medications) and he found himself in a welcome, dreamless sleep before long. By morning, however, he felt full of vim and vigor. The doctors told him they'd need to monitor him throughout the day. Spike had no choice but to agree. 

"I left the boss a message on the ol' answering machine," Daemian said, coming back into the room. 

"That 'what'?" Spike shook his head. "A machine that answers you?"

The doctors had briefly asked all guests to leave while they checked Spike's vitals. They were all shocked to find him, suddenly, the picture of health. The punk (with the mullet) nodded to Spike. "You...don't know what an answering machine is?"

"Duh?"

Daemian glared. "Want me to send you back to the underworld again, s***c***? Ugh. But that's right--we didn't have widely available answering machines in the sixties, yeah?" 

Spike couldn't follow. His head still hurt. As he tried to make sense, Kengo sprung back into the room, red faced and panting.

"It's...it's Sandra Iron."

Spike forced himself up, wincing, trying to stabilize himself. He wasn't dizzy. Good. "Whaddya' mean? Did she get hurt too? She wasn't even there! Is Mr. Iron okay? Why aren't you answering me!?"

"OY! Because you're talkin' a kilometre-a-minute, mate!" Daemian spat. "One thing at a time, or do you want your pretty head to nearly explode again? Didn't think so."

"She gave birth!" Kengo said, catching his breath at last. "A healthy baby boy!"

Spike's face lit up like the sun. "Whaaaaa!? World champion and a new dad? Mr. Iron must feel on top of the world." As he should. Goddess knows coach deserved it. "When do we get to see the baby?"

Kengo walked over and gently pressed his massive hand on Spike's forehead, lowering back to the pillow. "When this baby is cleared to get on his feet." He poured Spike a glass of water. "Minoru sends his regards too. He said he knew you'd come back, that you were too much of a..." Kengo blushed. "Expletive expletive to die. In my system of belief, when someone recovers from a grave illness around the same time as a new birth in their community, it is believed the two souls become interlinked."

The sudden realization, that he'd nearly died, made Spike's head swim. "Damn. Huh. Waitaminute...does that mean...Mr. Iron appointed me the kid's Goddess Father?"

"Nah," Daemian laughed. "He said that'd be Colt. The president is back in San Antonio, dealing with..." Daemian shrugged. "Everything. Did you know we had to all get interviewed and  debriefed by the bloody CIA? Aradia's been called into the UN and everything. Weirdly enough though, what happened at the world championships has cooled the heels of both Russia and the US. They're still pointin' nukes at each other, but they took what happened in Kitezh as a warning. I'm sure Lily is chuffed to know he org is gonna get heaps of funding now..."

Spike still had a million questions. Kengo tried his best to answer. Kengo was a resident now, at this hospital. When the glyph had run amok, Deadboy used his dark magick to teleport the rest of the spellbreakers to safety. But when they'd come out the other side of the dark corridor, the New York City they'd appeared in was...well...

"Changed," Kengo explained. "Uh...you see..." 

Spike's heart skipped a beat. "How long have I really been asleep, Kuma?"

Kengo smiled, nervously. "A week."

"And you became a resident of a New York City hospital WITHIN A WEEK? I mean, I knew you were smart, but--"

"It is...complicated. We still don't understand it. But...it seems Salim did something to...well...I...can't..." Kengo was tongued tied. 

Spike, glad to be walking around, tugged on his hospital gown. "Never mind, you'll either give me or yourself a panic attack. Salim mentioned to me that he had to something to...the timeline?" Spike scratched his head.

Kengo nervously handed Spike a pile of clothing. "We couldn't find your old clothing when we escaped Kitezh. Iggy and Daemian seemed to think you'd appreciate these?"

Spike frowned as he picked up the navy blue top. "Kengo. This shirt is missing its bottom." Spike tossed off the hospital gown and looked at himself in the mirror, giving himself a flirty wink and 'finger gun'. "Still got the bod, at least. And...THE HAIR!?"

Spike's eyes bugged out of his head. His hair was no longer shortly cropped, Navy style, but long and luscious and full (just like it had been, briefly, in his showdown with Salim). He looked more like the old Iggy Astro! Spike couldn't help but run his fingers through it.

"Yesss. YES. LOOK AT ME. Kengo! Look how pretty I am." He tossed his hair back and forth, like a shampoo model. "What's my secret? Well, I'll never tell. Oh yes. YESSSS." 

Growing rapidly excited with his new 'look' (not even questioning how his hair had grown in the span of a week) Spike tugged his new shirt over his body. His abs were completely visible.

"It's called a...crop...top?" Kengo explained. "Apparently they are quite popular with men these days."

These days? Spike put on the short shorts and admired himself in the mirror. "This is...the singular best piece of clothing that's ever been invented. Kinda' weird though. Don't ya think people will look at me funny wearing something like this?"

Iggy waltzed into the room and whistled at his mentee. "Lookin' good and slutty."

Spike frowned. "I dunno, Igs. Even I don't think is appropriate to wear to see a baby."

"Here," Daemian said, tossing him his jean jacket. "Just don't get baby vomit on it."

---

"OH HE'S THE MOST PRECIOUS THING!"

John and Sandra's kid looked like a little peanut. He slept against his mother's chest. Sandra, looking very glamorous for a woman who'd just given birth to her first kid, smiled down at him.

"He was pretty easy," Sandra said. "My momma always said that an easy labor meant rearing an easy kid."

"Bet you were a difficult birth," Mr. Iron said, winking at his wife.

"John Henry, you're lucky I'm in this bed!" She laughed. "Do you want to hold him?" She offered Spike.

"What!?" Spike balked. "No. I'm...what if I drop him?"

"He's an Iron," John said, gently taking his son (nearly lost in his father's arms) and placing him in Spike's hands. "He'd probably just bounce."

Spike swallowed. He looked down at the sleeping baby. He decided then that he'd gladly throw himself in front of a runaway glyph again for this kid. "What's his name?" Come on, you named him Spike, right.

"We named him Spike," Sandra said.

"REALLY!?"

"No!" the woman laughed. "But I just wanted to see your face. It was worth it."

"Aurelio," Mr. Iron said. "A name as good as gold."

"My father was Cornelio," Sandra explained. "And 'Au' is the periodic symbol for gold. I think he'll probably just end up being called 'Lio' though. I don't want him to get beat up on the playground."

"If he's our kid," John said, "he'll be the one doing the beating up."

"Oh, John! We don't even know if he'll have a glyph yet." Sandra took back her kid. "And it won't matter. It's a new world, now. He's going to be just fine."

Spike was inclined to agree. For the first time in awhile, he felt hopeful and calm. 

While Sandra tended to Aurelio, Mr. Iron took Spike on a walk down the hospital corridor. More and more, Spike picked up on the strange technology about the place--vending machines with glass windows and electronic buttons; windowed boxes with green, electronic text that nurses and doctors communicated with via some sort of typewriter board, signs telling people not to smoke.

"Notice anything...interesting?" Mr. Iron said, slyly.

"This hospital is state of the art," Spike marvelled. "I've never seen machines like these before."

"We've had a week to get used to it. It's odd. You look at something like a computer, are confused for a moment or two, and then it's like you suddenly remember everything about it. I reckon that snake Salim had some hand in it."

Spike bit his lip. "Yeah. He said had to do something to fix the mess he made. Also, what's a computer?"

"Fine mess indeed. I'd crack his skull again if I could...but he's seemed to have dropped off the face of the Earth. International wanted man, they say."

"How's it feel to be champion?"

"Meh." Mr. Iron, dressed in a fine, charcoal suit (the cut and tie also very 'modern') smiled at his young apprentice. "Being World Champ is all well and good, but it's just a title. Sure, it's nice to be recognized but...I'm much more concerned about the state of the world."

Spike and Mr. Iron stopped at the lobby lounge. A nurse slept on the couch. A doctor handed a different nurse some coffee in a plastic cup. It was strangely quiet. The music over the loudspeakers had unusual instrumentation that Spike had never heard before--a sort of tinny, electronic sound. He liked it.

"The music is different too," Mr. Iron said, absently.

"Salim told me that you didn't make a wish," Spike said.

"No."

"Why, coach?"

Mr. Iron sighed and leaned against the corridor wall. "I really should have. It just didn't feel right. There's no shortcuts in life, blondie. Certainly not when it comes to changing the world. I just...I hope I made the right choice."

"Coach, it's you--of course you did, big guy. I'd trust you with the world. And I guess...we all kinda' did."

Mr. Iron gave him a wan, sad smile. "I keep forgetting. And funny that, nobody will know. But I guess that's being selfless, eh? I've managed to brush up on history. Since the world suddenly changed over night. History books say we've come a long way, people like you and I. I suspect though, we haven't come long enough. We still have a tough fight on our hands. That's the thing about being a face, Spike. There's always a new heel to tangle with--always another battle."

Sobering words. Spike wasn't sure he was ready to hear them so soon, after all that had happened. 

"We'll beat them," he said, confidently.

---

Manhattan's towers were as tall as ever...and even taller than Spike had remembered. New York had become an arcology of glittering spires illuminated by massive, swinging spotlights. Gone were the aesthetics of brass and chrome--the art deco skyscrapers had since been dwarfed by pyramidal apartment blocks numbering the thousands. Old Manhattan was dead.

Neon reigned supreme. 

New wave spilled forth, cold and distant, from out of the goth's boombox as the girl with the black eyeliner gave dumbfounded Spike a confused look. Across the street, a woman in a spandex leotard, with a teased-out, hair-sprayed mane, hailed a taxi cab that appeared to be hovering several inches off the ground. The women around Spike dressed in business suits with padded shoulders. Glowing signs of neon fury rose around Spike, dazzled by this strange Manhattan of the modern. 

His eyes followed the chyron wrapping around the news tower in front of him. April 12th. 1985.

Spike fell backwards, caught at the last second by Iggy Astro, chewing a piece of gun. "Welcome to the future, Spike."

"I...need to sit down," Spike said, taking a seat at the hospital bench. In front of him, the poster on the bus stop advertised a band of psychedelic, spandex-clad rock stars. Iggy recognized the one in the front. Vanity Paradise and Iggy Astro--Live!

Revelling in his bewilderment, Iggy wrapped their arm around Spike and held them close. "The future has been kind to the Cosmic Crusher! Imagine that. I step out of the nineteen-sixties into 1985 and suddenly I'm more famous for my music than my spellbreaking." He beamed. Hearts of solid light floated up from their head. "I always thought my sound was much too ahead of its time. Turns out, it's right at home here the eighties."

Spike was on the verge of puking. "But...HOW ARE WE NOT LIKE...FORTY YEARS OLD!?"

Then Spike remembered. 'Cut-and-paste job', Salim had said.

Iggy shrugged. "Well, after what we saw in Kitezh, I don't really question much any more. It is weird though. Only the GSA and the Aradia task force seem to remember that last week we were still years away from putting a man on the moon. Now..." Iggy shrugged.

Spike's jaw dropped. "WE PUT A MAN ON THE MOON?" 

Nonplussed, Iggy pointed to the road. "Hover cars, Spike. Please keep up. Oh yeah, it also looks like spellbreaking has gotten pretty popular. Look." Iggy nodded to one of the many electronic signs hanging off the side of the news tower across the way.

Spike squinted. Then, his heart dropped. "YOU GOTTA BE FRIGGIN' KIDDIN' ME!"

Full of sound and fury and light, the TV advertisement for Sunday Night Spellbreaking showcased a hole slew of spellbreakers Spike had never crossed paths before--all of them more colorful, dazzling, and RIPPED than Spike had ever seen. Mr. Iron shirtless, flexed for the camera, grinning, with his world champ belt slung over his shoulders.

Spike smiled. "He's still champ. Great."

Then, his smile faded. Spike never liked seeing himself on TV (a surprise to everyone, considering his ego). Here he was, decked out in navy and gold gear, posing on top of the turnbuckle. Spike had never seen himself look so...confident before.

Spike on TV raised the mic to his lips. "That's right--get a look at all this perfection." Spike gestured to his enviable, muscular body. 

"Wow, that's a lot of baby oil I've got on." On the street, Spike noted his double's new gear. Blue velvet, trimmed white, like the cushioning of a crown. Royal. Gone, however, was the anchor--replaced instead with the golden emblem of a lion rearing up for attack.

Spike couldn't believe it. "That's...me, right, Igs? Not Cian in disguise or anything weird, right?"

Iggy flicked Spike's nose. "Shh. Yes. Watch."

Spike on TV tossed back his mane and allowed his loyal subjects to finish their cheers. "Yes. You all see it. I'm shinin' like the sun. And that mouthy hick who claims he's gonna dethrone me is in for a shock to the system when I kick his teeth in next week!" 

The crowd popped. 

"WOAH! I sound like a heel!" Spike squeaked.

"You're welcome," Iggy answered.

"Huh. So...I'm still in a hot rivalry with Vahni?"

Iggy, grinning with mischief, turned away. "You'll see..."

Spike on TV grabbed the camera and brought it closer to his face. "You hear that, sports fans? Next Sunday...you're gonna watch a young lion take down a buck. Wild Buck, that is. You say you aren't your daddy's boy, Buck Tamberly? Damn right. By the time I'm done with you, you'll be calling ME daddy." Spike dropped the mic. The crowd went berserk.

On the bench, Spike's face nearly fell off into the concrete. "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaa????"

Before Iggy could even butt in with something snarky or clever, the two spellbreakers heard a gasp from their right. A young teen, dressed in a basketball jersey, with gelled-up hair, pointed at them. "YO! Check it out! It's the Young Lion!"

Spike cocked his head to the side. "Igs, is that youth talkin' to us?"

Nearby, a girl with teased out, blonder hair squeaked and ran towards them, her beaded necklaces dangling in the wind. Others too, young and old, closed in.

Spike jumped back into the bench. "What's goin' on!?" He was already freaked out enough as is. These people, with big hair, and strange, colorful outfits, swarmed him.

"Autograph! Please!"

"Spike, my son loves you!"

"Young Lion, put me in a lion clutch, please!"

Spike blinked, trying his best to recompose himself. He cleared his throat, glanced briefly at his smug mug on the TV, and tried his best to emulate this spellbreaker he apparently was in this timeline. "Well...of course. Only my most loyal subjects could recognize me in the wild. Obviously you aren't peasants."

Spike had missed this. Whatever Salim had done to the time line, he'd thrown them a bone. But what had happened to Spike's 'Sailorboy' moniker? Everything on the TV set showed a world where spellbreaking was bigger, bolder, brighter. Was this perhaps the 'Golden Age' of spellbreaking that Colt had long-hope was somewhere on the horizon?

And what of Buck? Wild Buck? Where was he now?

Spike did his best to keep up his kayfabe (he enjoyed being ab it of a cocky dick) signing autographs and kissing cheeks. Iggy took the role of makeshift manager, shooing away the riff raff (and clearly indulging in the role). Soon, though, the crowd became overwhelming. Spike stood on the bench and called for order.

Just as he did, a bright flash threw the sidewalk meet-and-greet into a tizzy. Spike's 'loyal subjects' drew back from the blazing circle of fire that had sprouted at Spike and Iggy's feet. Spike looked to Iggy. "Rage?"

The ring of fire widened, pushing away the manic audience. It divided in front of Spike, forming a corridor for him to follow. With no other choice, Spike walked forward, craning his head over his shoulder and watching Iggy, lounging on the bench, wave him on.

A white limousine, trimmed in gold, zoomed down the road towards Spike. As it did, the so-called 'Young Lion' looked up across the street, noticing two familiar faces.

Seemed time hadn't caught up with Cian yet. He wore a tight ringer tee (green, of course), looking every bit like the high school jock. Next to him, face barely concealed by a black cowboy hat...

"Buck!?"

The handsome Buck tipped up his hat, looking at Spike with an intense expression. He looked tougher, now (maybe it was his lack of glasses ). Like a more cleaned up, yet intimidating, version of his father.

He smiled.

Spike smiled back.

The white limo pulled up alongside Spike, just as the flames (and crowd) died down. The door opened upward, on its hinges. Spike looked inside the lit interior.

Arms stretched across upholstered seats, a martini sitting on a table in front of him, the man in the suit adjusted his collar. Spike's first thought was that he was looking at Salim. 

But he'd know Vahni Rage's glamorous hair and handsome face anywhere. The well-suited heel's smirk could still cut deeply into Spike's heart. He reached down towards the table, picked something up, and threw it outside the limo.

A gold collar landed at Spike's feet. He looked down at it, and then at the handsome rogue waiting for him in the limo. 

Rage shrugged. Your choice. 

Mischief on his mind (and a whole host of more lascivious ides) Spike bent down and picked up the collar. He placed it across his neck and latched it, flicking the little name-tag that read "SPIKE".  

He stepped into the car, finding the door automatically shut behind him. Without fear, Spike took a seat next to Vahni Rage, who looked down at him with a hunger--and a softness--in his eyes.

This time, Spike grabbed Rage's neck first, pulling him and kissing him passionately. Thank goodness the limo's partition was up. Spike and Rage would need their privacy.

As the limo pulled away, Cian and Spike, left on a sidewalk strewn with litter and discarded newspaper, watched their friend vanish into the skyways of modern Manhattan.

Buck's fists tightened. Cian looked at him with empathy. "Don't worry, boyo. He always does that."

Buck's shoulders raised, and then fell. He tipped his head. "I know," he said. "That's Spike. Just makes things more interesting now."

Cian turned his head towards his friend, now a spellbreaker--and a deadly one--in his own right. "What do you mean?"

Buck's smile flashed just as brightly as his eyes lit up, wicked green. "You think you're king of the jungle, Spike? The hunt is on. And you will be mine..."

Just One More Thing...

Chapter 8: The Champions

"The rules are simple. This title fight will be a gauntlet style match...five men against yours truly. I have selected the contenders based on merit, personal analysis, and plot relevancy. I will bestow upon the winner, not merely the World Championship Belt, but the right to shape my 'world to come' to their desires..."

King Anubis, robed in gold, sat atop his gilded throne--studded with lapis--that he'd conjured up with the Glyph of Genesis. It was pyramidal, tiered dais, tall enough to necessitate a small flight of stairs leading to the top, where its master passed judgment on the wide-eyed fighters below. Anubis had embedded the glyph, a tangible relic of pure energy, into the throne's ankh shaped headboard, right in the center of the infinite loop.

Above the arena, the sky had turned bloody red and stormy. Silver bolts of lightning wove throughout the cloud cover. Below, however, the audience stands were silent. Aradia's task force, Lily and Slayer included, had evacuated the frightened audience and spirited them to safety. 

Not wanting any further interference, King Anubis--Salim Netjeer to most of the angry and frightened men and women standing around his superior throne--had used the power of the Genesis glyph to create a dome of 'frozen time' around the battlefield. He had effectively severed the spellbreakers from the outside world. Nobody could get in. Nobody could get out.

Which gave this final battle as much time as the immortal spellbreaker needed. 

Colt was the first to step forward, ignoring John Henry's concerned glances. "You big bastard," he seethed. "Salim. I trusted you. This...master plan of yours..." Colt gestured to the broken cobblestones, torn up from the combination of Koschei and King Anubis' powers. Only the ring remained upright and wholly intact. "It stinks. Nobody deserves to be king of the damn world. Not even me. You used us!"

Behind his jackal-headed mask, King Anubis looked down at Colt with stern, but gentle, eyes. "Never. Oh, mighty King Colt, do not look upon me with such disdain. I have always respected you and your team. But fair is fair, and you did not qualify for this gauntlet."

"SCREW YOUR DAMM CHAMPIONSHIP!" Colt said, jumping straight into the air and conjuring a lightning bolt from above. He threw the bolt of electricity at his foe.

Who had, suddenly, vanished from the throne.

Before Colt could turn his head around, King Anubis was at his back. "Boo!" he said.

Colt doubled over in pain, spitting out onto the cobblestones. However King had struck him from behind, he'd dealt a near-crippling blow.

"COLT!" Spike yelled, charging forward. John Henry went to hold him back, but the boy was too revved up. 

King Anubis merely held out his giant hand, holding Spike back by the forehead as the fighter (half the giant's size, or more) wildly swung with his fists. "How adorable," Salim said. "And adorable. This is why I chose you, Spike. Your heroism is truly something to behold." King Anubis pointed to Colt. "Observe. I can destroy. And...I can heal."

With a sickening crack, Colt's broken back repaired itself, putting the cowboy upright. He breathed out. "...Goddess...damn."

"Sleep," King Anubis said, waving his hand in front of Colt's face. The spellbreaker collapsed to the ground, unconscious. King Anubis turned to his stunned audience. "Now, if anybody else would care to try breaking my rules..." He pushed Spike away. The young fighter landed on the ground, more emotionally than physically hurt.

In a blink, King Anubis was back on his throne, head resting on his chin, looking down at his new subjects. "Koschei, or Semyon, or Rasputin...I honestly stopped keeping track...wanted to subjugate the world and make it a place where only the strong survived. Pathetic. Is that not the world we already live in today?"

The spellbreakers, all weary and worn out from Koschei draining their magick, looked upward at their new master with scornful glances. Deadboy, holding his Auntie and Uncle close to his side, was already concocting how to dispatch him. That power of his, though, was unlike any dark magick he'd witnessed before.

"In primitive times, men weakly attempted proving their superiority by comparing the size of their manhood. We have not come far, since then. Now? It's nuclear missiles. When I went to sleep, long ago, I had hoped to wake up in a world where mankind had evolved. Instead? I was awoken to be used as a tool of war. Well..." 

King Anubis sat up and motioned to the scenery around him. "Indeed, I will end the world. And create a better one in its stead. Magick has bent and ruled this timeline for far too long, twisting fate into knots. Reality is self correcting. This is why we stand on the brink of nuclear annihilation--because this timeline cannot exist, as it stands. I will rewrite it, and eliminate those who sought to subjugate, harm, and control. I can think of no better judgment than this."

Spike pulled himself off the ground. "You keep saying you want to give us a 'favorable outcome'. But...wouldn't that erase tons of people? Make it so they never existed?"

"And would the world be so bad if Hitler never existed?"

"...Who?"

"Exactly." King Anubis stood. Everyone instinctively took a step back. "Every timeline has it's 'a-holes'. In this one, it was the Albans. But you best be sure, it could have been Koschei next, or the Alchemists. I have seen many possible futures unravel, even ones where nuclear annihilation is not the outcome. Fifty years for now, or more, I have glimpsed the fate of the world. Terrorism. Countries ruled by idiot bullies. Plagues killing millions by the day." King Anubis clenched his fist and trembled with rage. "Twitter!

"None of that can be avoided if this reality is permitted to persist. That said, I am a merciful god. Best me in spellbreaking, and I will allow the victor to mold the world to come to their liking." The giant paused. "When I call your name, please step forward. Cian. Spike. Rage. Tiger. Iron."

The spellbreakers in question looked at each other, warily.

"The rest of you...are safe. You may leave the runway." King Anubis suddenly placed his hand to his mask and giggled childishly. "Okay, okay, I know you won't get that reference, but I just had to do it. Anyways, it's time for you five men...to lip-synch for your life. By which I mean, fight me."

As Kin Anubis spoke these words, he reached up and yanked off his robe, revealing a massive body, veiny and rippling with muscle. The man, or monster, could easily dwarf most professional bodybuilders. Everyone gasped, even John Henry--the beefiest of them all.

Spike almost fell to his knees, drooling. "Holy s***! Woof!"

Cian smacked him up the side of the head. "Spike, he's trying to take over the world."

"Duh! Well, who doesn't love a baddie?"

"That's the spirit, Spikey!" King Anubis said. "But you weren't paying attention. I am not trying to take over the world. I am trying to give you a better one. My vibe is...er...more morally gray than black and white. Keeps things interesting."

"You don't have the right to that much power," Joseph said, pushing past Spike. "Nobody does! Your intentions may be more altruistic than Semyon's, but you're robbing the entire world of autonomy. All of us have the power to shape the world. We're doing it every day."

Kin Anubis lowered his head. "Yeah. And you're all doing a s*** job of it. I'm not going to be preached to by some Bruce Lee pretty-boy in ballerina tights."

Joseph winced. "Ouch. Ok, look, I get that tensions are a bit high right now, but maybe we can come to some sort--"

"BORING!" King Anubis said. "That's what I hare about your faces. You're so damn BORING."

Joseph's eyes flashed white, and the wind around his feet spiralled up around him like a cyclone. "Allow me to make things more interesting, then. You are no god, despite what your magick may have led you to believe. If you want a fight, you'll have one. I will dismantle you."

Spike had never seen Joseph filled with such righteous fury. Even Vahni Rage looked slightly put off.

"Nobody should live as long as you and Semyon," Joseph continued, as King Anubis waited patiently. "Look what it does to people."

"Now that's more like it!" King Anubis laughed. "But spellbreakers, be forewarned...should you succumb to my finisher, I will take a YEAR off your life, and make myself even stronger."

Joseph and Rage looked at each other and shrugged. "I mean, just a year? That doesn't sound so bad?" Rage said.

"Ugh." King Anubis hung his head. "Seriously? Not even a little scared? Sheesh. You go through all this trouble to usher in the apocalypse and nobody takes you seriously. NEVERTHELESS, MORTALS! I will give you an hour to prepare. To strategize. To make peace with your Goddess. Whatever you choose to do. But don't even think of trying to escape, or thwarting me by means of magick or trickery. This is a spellbreaking tournament. You want to settle your score with me? Settle it in the ring." 

---

Spike: Why are yous guys looking at me like that! I had nothing to do with this.

Tiger: You've been in the GSA for a year, but he selects you as one of the final contenders? Weren't you disqualified?

Cian: I mean, so was I at one point. I don't think Spike meant any harm, Joseph.

Mr. Iron: You just know things are serious when Cian is the one defending Spike.

Rage: It is obvious that King Anubis has chosen us, not solely on merit alone, but the strength of our spirit.

Tiger: ...I would have picked Kengo over Spike, to be honest.

Spike: JOE, I AM STANDING RIGHT HERE.

Rage: I would have personally given it to El Amante...

Spike: VAHNI, YOU HEEL!

Mr. Iron: I gotta' say fella's, this whole thing don't look great. I've fought some nasty heels in my time, but never one that...er...controls it.

Rage: I will confront any challenge. If this King Anubis claims to hold the power of his namesake, the Judge of the Dead, than I shall laugh in his face...and then BEAT IT to a bloody PULP.

Tiger: ...And get muscle busted so hard it shaves a year off your life? Only one of us is likely to win this, boys, but we need to go at it with a plan. This is more than just about winning the championship now. This is about...

Spike: Saving the world?

Tiger: I didn't want to say it.

Cian: And how they hell are we supposed to stop a feckin' god?

Spike: If Lily were here, she might be able to come up with a solution. She knows how glyphs work.

Mr. Iron: Then the best we can do is knock him the hell out. Seldom few glyphs can be controlled while unconscious.

Rage: Even the glyph of the Goddess Aethrin?

Tiger: Mr. Iron has a valid point as any. All we can do is land a K.O.

Cian: Again, lads, against a god?

Spike: He's not a god. And...I think he's just a good guy who let a little power get to his head.

Cian: A LITTLE?

Tiger: Your ability to see the good in others is truly the mark of a hero, Spike, but I'm afraid in this circumstance it could be considered naïve.

Rage: Which is all to say, jobbers, that I'll need to RIP HIS HEAD OFF.

Tiger: You've already done enough murder for one day, Rage.

Rage: I HAD NO CHOICE.

Mr. Iron: Muscle and magick alone is not going to be able to win this. I think of most matches like puzzles....

Spike: Mr. Iron, I get stumped by friggin' Highlights Hidden Picture Puzzles!

Cian: ...A puzzle, huh. 

Spike: Okay, I'm not very good at words...but. Here I go. If I had to stand at the end of the world with anybody, it would be you guys. My mentors. My rivals...and possible future lovers.

Cian/Rage: LOVERS, PLURAL?

Spike: I couldn't have gotten this far without your teaching and you challenging me. Or...in Rage's case, trying to kill me.

Rage: But did you die?

Spike: Joseph is right. I mean, he usually is. I don't deserve to be here among champs. Not yet. But I became a spellbreaker to show the world what a hero looks like. If I don't help save it, what does that make me?

Rage: ...A dead hero?

Spike: HEY, I'M TRYIN' HERE, WISE GUY! Anyways, I think we're all smart and strong and sexy enough that...we can do this.

Tiger: Your heroic speech in the face of supreme evil needs work, kid, but not a bad start.

Rage: The fact that I, the previous villain, am teaming up with you all to fight an even greater villain, suggests that we will need back-up plans upon back-up plans if we are to stand a chance against this King Anubis.

Cian: We have 45 minutes...

Mr. Iron: Kid, 45 minutes is tons of time. So, boys. let's talk...

Spike: And then, let's rumble.

---

Standing across from Vahni Rage, a god in his own right, King Anubis dwarfed the Warrior of Flames by a foot or more. King Anubis was a living, bronze colossus. His muscles and proportions bordered on inhuman--a stark contrast to the shining eyes sitting behind his intimidating mask, which sparkled with the pulse of life. 

Sadness. Desperation. Anger. Confidence. Arrogance. Kindness. Hope. Judgment. A million different emotions reflected in Salim's eyes. 

"So, you're first in the meat grinder," King Anubis said to Rage, tossing back his long braid, almost as tall as the rest of him. "Very good."

Rage, who had oiled himself up nicely for this fight, looked to Spike, standing at ringside. The blonde fighter nodded to him. Mr. Iron, White Tiger, Cian, waited behind Spike. How strange, it was, to have allies for once. Rage considered getting used to the idea.

Then again, becoming champion sounded a whole lot nicer. "I see there's no ref," Rage smirked, cracking his neck. "Last man standing? Anything goes?" Trying for intimidation, Rage bounced his pecs.

King Anubis stared at him for a few seconds, and then bounced his in return. 

Spike almost felt the earth shake, and had to bite his lip. Cian threw him a look. "Okay, so he has the biggest tits you and I have ever seen. We are NOT going to be attracted to the supreme evil, Spike."

King Anubis' laughter was deep and resonate, befitting an immortal of his might. "Oh yes. Let us bring about total destruction, Mighty Flame. A pity the world will not get to watch this match." King Anubis turned his head towards the bleachers, were the other spellbreakers watched with anticipation and horror. "Yet, it is a most worthy audience. Well, Rage. Shall we, d--"

Rage had already sprinted across the ring, throwing off heat and fire out as he did. He wouldn't give King Anubis a chance. He threw a heavy punch, and the fire off his fists burst forward like a projectile. The fire ball struck its mark, practically exploding that corner of the ring, causing the runes woven into the ropes to brighten as they absorbed the excess magick.

For a moment, Rage thought he'd incinerated the giant. Then, remembering what he'd done to Colt, he whipped around to aim another punch.

"Very clever," King Anubis said, grabbing Rage's fist and clamping down with ease. Rage's muscles tensed, and he clenched his jaw in agony. "I'd shatter your pathetic hand if I wanted to be boring, you half-baked heel."

Rage's eyes flashed red hot. "What...did...you...say?" He turned his head, sending himself alight. "You will BURN WITH ME!"

King Anubis responded by scooping Rage up, off the mat. "Nah," was all he said, as he jumped into the air, held Rage aloft, and then brought the whole weight of his body down--creating an impact that rocked not just the ring, but the earth itself.

A steaming crater formed in the center of the ring--its magicks repairing itself (and the soma's magick repairing Rage). Vahni Rage, body bent at an odd angle, twitched. His eyes rolled back into his head.

Spike and Cian both clutched their mouths, in horror. Not even a minute had passed since the match had started!

"Oh...you thought I was done?" King Anubis laughed, picking up Rage--by the head--and holding his limp body in front of him. "That's what you like to say to your jobbers, isn't it--spicy boy? How does it feel now...to be my plaything?" King Abubis flexed his bulging bicep with his free arm, veins popping out of his vasculature. "Bet that made your singlet twitch, eh, Sailorboy? Oh, and super cute look by the way."

Spike wasn't feeling his old manager's 'humor', however. He stared blankly ahead.

"Wow, no laughs? Hmm. I just wanted to entertain you, Spike." King Anubis looked down at Rage, swaying unconscious in his clutches. "Should we entertain them, Ragey?" King Anubis scooped up Rage again, onto his shoulders.

"No!" White Tiger cried out. "Don't!"

"Don't WHAT?" King Anubis called back, hopping up to the ropes. "I'm not gonna kill him! Well, not really. I mean, what's one year off your miserable life--Rage?"

King Anubis jumped into the air, his meaty hands compressing Rage's legs into his abs, body inverted, head on King Anubis' beefy neck....

A world where my family is safe and happy. I know, not what you were expecting, was it? Truth be told, I once believed in Semyon's vision--a world ruled by the strong. But I have been champion of Firebird long enough to know well these games of constant backstabbing. Champions get old, only to be dethroned by the new blood. Rinse. Repeat. How exhausting, these ceaseless wrestling match. A world of the strong? Hah! It would never last. The powerful would destroy themselves, consuming each other like rats without a food source--the weak. Sounds dreadfully dull, to me.

I would desire something so much simpler. King Anubis, you can do what you will. I just want my family to be safe, happy. I think I would also like a lover. Someone who looks up to me like the god of fire that I am. I would protect him. Possess him utterly. Give him the world. I would be his king, forever. But...he better challenge me too. Yes, I don't want a door mat. I want someone who I can fight. 

Save your conquest. I just want to protect what I love, and I want nothing less than worship in return...

SLAM!

For a moment, Vahni Rage's hair went gray. His body no longer twitched. He was unconscious, knocked out for the first time in...well, since Spike.

King Anubis stood, hands gesturing out towards the audience---the 'worship me' pose that Rage was so found of doing post-wrecking his opponent. "Well. Am I not worthy of your adoration?"

King Anubis placed his foot on Rage's neck. "STAND FOR ME! OR I SNUFF YOUR GOD OF FLAMES."

The spellbreakers in the audience, listlessly got to their feet, in shame, bowing their heads.

Spike spat on the ground. He's even worse than Rage.

King Anubis crossed his arms over his chest, laughing mockingly. He looked down and rolled rag-doll Rage over once, then twice, pushing him out of the ring. "Out of my court PEASENT!" he spat. "Ohhhhh...I bet the folks at home have been waiting to see that for a very long time."

---

A geyser of dark water from the right. A cyclone of snowy wind from the left. Both converged on King Anubis. 

The giant merely stopped time and walked out of their way. "Pathetic."

But White Tiger, clad in special tights of gold and black stripes, smiled.

Knowing he would freeze time, as he had done before, Joseph tossed up a wall of water and mist, blanketing the ring in fog. He sped off...

"Hmmm?" King Anubis looked around the deep cloud bank. "Well, well. You don't disappoint me, champion. Unlike Rage, you at least make things interesting."

White Tiger crept silently along the ropes, like the stalking cat of his namesake. He knew he had only once chance. If King Anubis couldn't see him, then he couldn't activate his powers--Joseph had already calculated them during Rage's fight, and had share the information with Spike, Cian, and Iron. 

Five seconds. That's all King Anubis could manage.

It would be enough. Tiger positioned himself, locked onto his target, and leapt into the air with grace and agility, aiming his foot right for King Anubis' head. Joseph used the power of his wind magick to silence his movements. It would take one hit. Nobody had yet survived a Tiger Typhoon Kick.

King Anubis turned around and plucked Joseph out of the air by his foot--like catching a paper plane. "Catch a tiger by the...what's it now?"

"GAH!"

White Tiger fell to the mat, painfully. He attempted to bridge his back and yank his foot away from King Anubis--but the man was much stronger than him...or any other spellbreaker for that matter. He had twisted him around, onto his back in an instant.

"Oh yeah," Anubis said, clamping his beefy arms around Tiger's leg. "TOE HOLD"

"Gahhhh!" Joseph screamed out. The brute was bound to twist and rip Joseph's foot right off his angle, boot and all. Not even the most vicious heel had caused Joseph so much agony before. He had prepared himself to heroically endure the savagery, and allow his body to knock him out from the pain, but not even he could withstand this vile submission technique...

I desire a world of justice and harmony. 

When my father was alive, he tried to create that world. He set out to protect the weak and punish those who would use power to supress them. He failed in his endeavour; was led astray. 

I promised myself that I would be better. 

I learned not to punish the guilty, but to defend the innocent. To stay the course of the former would only lead me down the path of men like King Anubis; men who feel it's their divine right to mete out judgment. I never want to be like that. 

I just want those in power held accountable. For justice to be truly blind. Mine is a world of law. Is it so hard to envision such a place? Perhaps...

Despite his best efforts, Joseph found himself tapping. He slammed his fist against the mat and clenched his teeth, eyes going distant. 

This was humiliating!

King Anubis only let go, slightly--but kept Tiger in his grip. The masked menace turned his head towards Spike. "Look upon your pathetic hero, Spike. Truly understand how powerful I am. And...despair." 

Joseph grimaced. The bastard wouldn't let go.

"Wait til you get in the ring with me, punk!" Spike spat back. "Pulling that s*** on me will--"

"Only make you more powerful? Hahaha. Of course, Sailorboy. I know how your glyph works. Do you think I'll even allow you to come within three inches of me, you adorable fool? Ugh. Stop, squirming, Tiger." 

King Anubis rose, dragging White Tiger off the mat with ease! Joseph hung half in the air, limply, trying to claw himself out of harms way. Anubis reached back and tucked Joseph's head between his tanker-truck quads. He could probably snap it off easily if he wanted to.

Instead, King Anubis went for his Judgment Driver. "WEAK!" King Anubis roared. Like a massive statue falling onto a mouse (or kitten, in this case) the beefy hulk brought his entire body down on top of Joseph's neck. "I WILL CRUSH YOU WITH MY GLORY."

White Tiger would live, of course. That was the blessing of soma. But in that moment, he had never been subjugated to such one-sided brutality before. To add insult to grievous injury, King Anubis sat back on top of Tiger's chest, using his unconscious body as a throne, once again crossing his arms in triumph.

"Comfy!" he said. "Maybe I'll stay here on my new throne for awhile. Hehe. But I guess you have to breathe, don't you? And I wouldn't want to destroy everyone's favorite hero. I mean, think of all the kids that would cry! Seems more a pain in the ass than it's worth, for me..."

Kin Anubis sat up. For White Tiger, he was more amicable, scooping up his limp body and carrying him over to the side of the ring, where he dropped him on the soft cushioning set up outside. El Amante and Gio scrambled to retrieve his unconscious body and make sure he was alright.

Spike leered at the man he once called a friend, this sadistic 'so-called god' preening before him. "Next?" King Anubis laughed.

Spike placed his hands on the ring, ready to pull himself up--but the hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Wait."

Spike looked back at Cian. For this match, they'd agreed to 'swap' styles. After much encouragement, Cian had chosen to wear black trunks (marked with his green, Celtic-inspired logo). They were snug. Cian was a beefy, thick boy--something that had made him a bit shy to wear something so revealing. 

Now, however, Cian felt more powerful than ever. "Lave him to me," Cian sad, with confidence. His eyes sparkled with power.

Spike, dressed in low-cut, Navy blue butcher singlet (that somehow looked even more revealing than his usual briefs) balked. "Dude, he'll smear you."

"And he won't smear you? Stick to the plan, Sailor."

Behind them, King Anubis laughed. "Are you two girlies fighting? Honestly, your rivalry is so cute. Get a room already!"

Spike blushed. Cian raged. He pushed back Spike and entered the ring. He'd face him, with our without his friend's consent.

Cian had never looked so deadly serious before. He stared ahead. "Just one question before we do this," he said.

King Anubis placed his hand on his masked face, annoyed. "Ugh. Fine. Yes?"

"How come the Genesis Glyph didn't turn you into er...a gross blob monster like Semyon?"

"Oh!" King Anubis sounded grateful for the question, and even took a cross-legged seat in the center of the ring. It was almost a taunt--the man knew Cian wouldn't dare try and attack him while seated. 

"Well, gee, Faeblood--that is a good question. You should give yourself more credit. You're a good kid. That won't stop me from breaking every last bone in your body, but I thought you should know that. But, if I may throw out this needless bit of exposition midway through what's probably this story's denouement..."

Using his powers of creation, Anubis conjured up illuminated symbols in the air to illustrate his lesson.

"Semyon was born with the double glyphs of 'Death' and 'Life'. This unique combination allowed his cells to regenerate constantly, and keep his body healthy and alive--though clearly not attractive--provided he didn't suffer any mortal wound. Or, you know, have his heart ripped off by a big, beefy, long-haired heel."

He snapped his fingers. The symbols vanished into smoke. "Unfortunately, said blessing was also his downfall. Nobody on Earth can sustain a third glyph. Let alone sustain the most powerful one of all. Semyon's glyphs of Life and Death were enhanced by the glyph of Creation--his cells going into hyperdrive, constantly writing and rewriting his DNA. Hence, the Cronenberg.

"My glyph however--super special and awesome as it is--is just the singular one I own. And, it also allowed me to time-freeze the more...unstable aspects of the Genesis glyph. I can use it in perpetuity. Fitting for a god, no?" The giant rose, casting a long shadow over Cian. "Anyways, get over here so I can BREAK THAT CUTE FACE OF YOURS."

Cian sneered. He knew better than to try and make the first move. "Which face?" he said, as emerald green light surrounded his bulky build, dividing Cian into two versions of himself.

"Clever girl," King Anubis said--and per usual, he sounded more excited than concerned.

The two Cians ran the rings around him, bouncing off the ropes. King Anubis stood there, watching, waiting. In a flash, the giant spellbreaker threw his arms around one of the Cian's.

"GOT YOU--"

The wrong one. The illusory Cian stuck out his tongue before vanishing into particles of green light. King Anubis was unbothered. "What do you think you'll do if you catch me, kid? You think you can power bomb 400s pounds of Egyptian god?"

"Nope," Cian said, cheerfully, as he divided himself again and again, Cian doubles forming a circle around his target. "And I don't have to. Oh, and I fixed that little issue with the shadow too."

King Anubis tightened his fist. "You're just delaying the inevitable. And I AM inevitable, Faeblood."

Ringside, Mr. Iron beamed with pride. "Atta' boy, Cian."

The Cian clones closed in on King Anubis, standing like a Obelisk in the desert, immovable and exuding a regal aura of mystery. "Your magick is strong, Cian. Truly, commendable. I knew I picked you for a reason. But..."

Suddenly, King Anubis whipped around and dug his fingers into Cian's head with his claws, putting him in a tight grip. Cian's eyes immediately bugged out, and he fell to his knees in pain, his doubles mirroring his anguish as they vanished into sparks of light carried on the ring.

"Gah..." Cian gurgled, with King's tight fingers clawing into his head. A trickle of blood ran down his forehead. He'd been opened up by the jackal's claw grip!

King Anubis turned to look into John Henry's citrine colored eyes. "Sorry, is this your move?" he asked, mockingly. "You wanna watch as a crack little Cian's head open with my jackal claws like a farm fresh egg?"

Cian swallowed, hand ready to signal his defeat...

Aw, what the bloody hell do I know about settin' the world straight? I

'm not the one to make a wish like that. I'm just a poor kid from County Meath who's had the s*** kicked out of him since the day he was born. 

F*** this supervillain wish fulfilment. You want to talk wishes? I'm all about making your own in the world--but if I had to wish for anything...I just want to be strong enough that nobody ever messes with me or my friends, or family again. I don't need power like King Anubis. I just need enough.

But what does 'enough' look like?

I also want something else too. I just wanna' rest my head on a swell guy, lay down together under a tree on a hot summer day and do nothin' at all. I don't know what he looks like. I don't have a face in mind. 

Hell, maybe he even looks like Spike. 

All I know is, he make me feel happy and safe and loved, and like I'm worth something. This past year, you may have thought I'd just been fightin'. That ain't all true. I been healin' too. 

And I'm not going to stop either now. I've got the blood o' the fae in my veins. You can't beat me, boyo!

Then, Cian smiled. "That...all you got?"

"Huh?" King Anubis looked down at this foe's smug face, half covered in blood. "I gave you a crimson mask and you're still asking for punishment." King Anubis dug in deeper, but drew back his fee hand, ready to strike. "Gotta' hand it to you kid, you got much bigger balls than Tiger or Rage. Makes sense. You're Cu Cullen's descendant aren't you? Dude had some big, brass ones if I ever saw some!"

King Anubis's fist collided with Cian's head at blinding speed. The audience, gasping in horror, was shocked not to see a tooth or two fly clean out of his haw.

Cian hit the mat. Painfully. Groaning. 

King Anubis loomed over him, straddling him and flexing his bicep to show off his complete and total domination. "That's a good boy, Cian. You let big Anubis put you to..."

"Yes...daddy."

"...What?"

"Harder...daddy." Cian moaned. And...not a pained sounding moan either. "Please. I've been a real bad boy."

"Pardon the f***?" King Anubis' eyes widened behind his mask. He looked up to see the audience, just as confused. "Enough of this silly s***. I won't let a mortal like you make a mockery OF ME!!!"

King Anubis slammed his giant fists into Cian's face. Again and again. Even John Henry, battle-hardened as he was, was tempted to look away. He was going to turn Cian into ground beef. John had to get in there now.

Then, he saw Spike, hands placed casually against the ring apron. More specifically, however, he saw Spike's faint smile...and his eyes.

I thought Yankee's eyes were blue. Since when have they been....green?

In the ring, Cian's face was near unrecognizable. Busted, bruised, swollen, and bloody. And still he said. "...That all a god's got? Heh. Wimp."

"GAAAAHHHH!" King Anubis had broken out into a sweat at this point. But he wouldn't let Cian get the last laugh. "That was quite a show, Cian! Very entertaining. Forget power moves. I'm gonna break your damn n--hey...what happened to your accent?"

Cian, what was left of Cian's face, looked up, smiling. In a flash, the damaged to his face was gone! "You like pop culture references, putz? How's about this one? You just fell for my trap card."

King Anubis reeled back, disgusted. "Ugh. Habibi, that's cringe...WHAT DID YOU JUST--"

"Heh." Cian sat up, glowing an eerie blue aura. The pupils of his eyes suddenly shifted, from black, to the fire-orange glare of a glyph...Spike's glyph. Shining like a beacon, Cian's face peeled away in a stream of light, revealing a much different visage.

King Anubis' eyes flashed to ringside, where Spike had been standing a moment earlier. Only, it wasn't Spike that watched him, but Cian! 

"Then..."

King Anubis looked down, into Spike's eyes. "Thanks for powering up my glyph, sexy," Spike said. He leaned up and pushed King's mask up, not only blinding him, but leaving his open mouth vulnerable and open for.

"By Goddess!" Mr. Iron shouted. "He's going for a lip lock."

Spike pressed his mouth over King Anubis, injecting him with a concussive blast of built up energy. It was enough to knock the hulk back onto his back. 

The other spellbreakers in the audience jumped to their feet in disbelief and excitement. "HOLLLLYY SSSHHHHH--"

Spike stood up, unbothered and unbroken, wiping a trail of spittle. "WOO! Never kissed a god before. I like it."

King Abubis lunged. He wouldn't be humiliated by this punk.

But he didn't get far. Spike round house kicked the beast right in his masked face, sending him FLYING right across the ring. 

In the stands, Gio's jaw dropped. "WHAAAAT?!"

Iggy's eyes welled up with tears. He pointed to the ring. "That's my mentee, everyone. Yes, yes, you can thank my stellar tutelage."

And Spike was just as surprised as everyone else, not entirely sure what he'd just done! He looked down at his arm, trembling with energy. His veins popped. He felt like he had an unlimited supply of strength and stamina inside, ready to tap into.

He'd need it.

King Anubis, splayed across the ropes, pulled himself up. Half his mask ripped off his face, his exposed mouth twisted itself from anguished grimace into confident sneer. "Beautiful. I haven't set eyes on such a powerful twink since Alexander the Great."

Spike spat on the ground. "Did you just sleep your way through the ancient world?"

"Oh, like you wouldn't?"

Spike blushed. "Okay, you got me there." But instead of holding out his fist, Spike extended his hand. "Salim. Sarapis. King Anubis. Whatever you prefer to be called. Stop fu***n' around and chill, okay, big guy? I'm your pal. We don't need to do this. You've already shown how powerful you are! You don't need a glyph to change the world, bud! Not with a mind and muscles like yours!"

Spike stepped forward. John Henry, tensed, watched him warily. Be very careful, Spike. The hero gimmick might not work this time.

"You can keep your belt." Spike said. His smile could break hearts, maybe even that of a god. "The world is just gettin' to know King Anubis, right? Let's go home, to the GSA, order some pizzas, and talk. You already saved the day, King! You're...a hero!"

King Anubis craned his head towards Spike (well, really, he looked down). His sneer faded, turning neutral. Spike remained steadfast. Everyone held their breath.

King Anubis tugged his mask down back over his face. "I wish...I wish it were that easy. But..."

The feared god threw out his hand and grabbed Spike's arm, dragging him closer into danger. He held him close. "I've come too far to give up. I WILL shape the world, Spike. You want in...?"

King gripped down on Spike's arm, hard, threatening to break it with sheer force. Spike reared his back and cried out in pain. 

"THEN FIGHT...." the muscle beast said, clutching Spike's beck and lifting him straight off the canvas, suspending him, watching his legs kick out as he choked him in mid-air.

"...TO YOUR LAST BREATH."

To Be Continued...

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