"Our friend is a necromancer!" the announcer said into the sound-amplifying cube, speaking louder to be heard over Bobby's roar. "A rare sort. But will it be enough to save him here?"
He wasn't disgusted or horrified at this revelation, and neither was his audience. They held little love for the Benevolent Gods, though they didn't lick the boots of the Dark Gods either.
They were a practical, if bloodthirsty, lot, and saw this as nothing but a win.
If Morne won his freedom, how could he tell the guards of this underground fighting ring?
The Knife-Tongues would just tell the guards of Morne's heresy, a contingency that made releasing Morne much easier.
The guards wouldn't have listened to Morne's claims anyway, as their pockets were lined with the Knife-Tongues' coin, but now they wouldn't have to worry about Morne seeking someone who cared enough to do something.
Bobby's howls died down as he forced his eyes open, the stricken one watering profusely and twitching occasionally. With a snarl, he lunged forward, grabbing at Morne with his large arms.
Morne stepped forward and sent another punch toward the man's face, only for the buckler to shoot up and take the blow.
Morne's fist rebounded off the shield. Bobby took advantage of the opening to grab Morne by the shoulder with his right hand.
His left shot forward and smashed into Morne's nose, tearing the cartilage and sending a fountain of blood spraying out.
Then Bobby did it again, and again.
On the third strike, he hit Morne so hard that he broke his grip on the latter's shoulder, sending the necromancer stumbling back.
Bobby bounded forward with a bloody grin. "I'm going to enjoy this."
Another punch careened toward Morne's face, one that he could hardly see coming with all the blood in his eyes.
He felt his brain rattle in his skull and his head snap backward.
Bobby caught him by the shirt, raising him up and tossing him five feet away. Morne landed with a thud, the impact driving the breath from his lungs.
He wiped the blood out of his eyes with what was left of his sleeves, just in time to foot flying towards him.
His next sight was one of swimming stars as the force of the blow sent him rolling backward.
Morne propped himself up on his elbow and coughed violently, snatching at Bobby's incoming ankle and refusing to let go even as it collided with his face.
Bobby fell to the ground, his foot pulled out from under him unexpectedly, as Morne pushed himself up to his feet with heavy breathing.
Morne took only one step forward before a foot slammed into his chest, sending him sprawling back and tripping him up.
The two rushed to their feet at nearly the same time, Morne's exhaustion causing him to raise himself just a hair of a second slower.
"The harder you struggle, the more I'm going to enjoy strangling the life out of you," Bobby growled, the eye Morne had hit still twitching uncontrollably.
Morne didn't reply, instead tilting forward and narrowing his eyes.
In unison, the two pushed off the ground to close the meager distance between them, Bobby extending his arms out for a bear hug and Morne ducking underneath.
Morne threw his arms around the larger man and they fell to the ground in a tangle of limbs.
The two wrestled back and forth for a few seconds, but Morne's superior position won out and he pinned Bobby's arms under his legs.
Morne's hands shot toward the Butcher's throat, squeezing tightly with the intent to wring the life out of his opponent, just as Bobby had threatened a minute ago.
The man only grinned as Morne's fingers flexed. It was like trying to squash a watermelon with his bare hands; Bobby's thick neck didn't give at all.
"Having trouble?" sneered Bobby. Despite all that had just happened in the last ten five minutes, his breathing was still perfectly even. "Because I can do this all day."
Morne's eyes narrowed. He felt Bobby's arms wiggling around under his legs even now; the man wouldn't stay down for long.
Fine. If he couldn't choke this scum out, then he'd just have him…
"Wither away."
Bobby's unharmed eye widened in alarm.
He could feel his cheeks start to sink and his flesh start to sag.
He started thrashing violently, trying to free himself from Morne's hold, but even he wasn't strong enough to move Morne's bulk from such a disadvantageous position.
His legs kicked and his neck flexed, his wrists clawing at the ground as he tried to get away. He even tried spitting blood into Morne's eyes, but it was all for naught.
Within two minutes, he had lost just enough body mass for Morne's grip to tighten around his neck, which is exactly what happened.
Morne's nose was whole once more, thanks to the life force he had stolen from Bobby, and he looked down its length at the man below him, gritting his teeth as he clamped down with all his might.
Morne stopped the Spell a minute later, preserving the majority of his Chimh for the next fight.
He had brought Withering Touch to the Eme stage of mastery during his time in the inn, meaning its Mark had evolved and it was an Apprentice Spell now.
Since his Chimh Well was also Apprentice-rank, that is, a well with a depth of a Medium Puddle and a width of seven inches, he couldn't sustain the Spell for a day at a time anymore and had to be more frugal with his Chimh usage.
Bobby was too busy fighting the stars dancing in his eyes and the desperate alarms ringing in his brain to notice this, however.
He finally managed to free his arms, slapping and hitting Morne to try to disrupt his concentration, but he had lost too much strength to do any real harm and his vision swam so much that he could hardly tell left from right.
Weakened fists, which still packed a punch, pounded against Morne's chest and gripped at his clothes, but Morne only tightened his grip further.
Bobby's vision went dark bit by bit, like drops of ink slowly corrupting an otherwise colorful canvas as he felt his life slip away with a torturous, glacial speed.