"That was Abaddon. The NFC Abyss Champion. And he's coming for me."
She stared at the spot where he'd once stood, beads of sweat running down her forehead before blinking and smiling, trying to put the situation to the back of her mind as she took my arm and lead me towards the bustling mess hall.
"Well, cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, we've got a meeting for you to attend."
With that, she pushed open the doors to the semifinalists eagerly chowing down on food. Rex Chugg was downing a 40oz with glee, Eustace De Kolta sat in the far corner throwing food into his satchel and eating some soft bread. To the back lay Wendy, nursing her leg while listening to some music, a blood bag IV attached to her through a thin tube. Miroslav was undoubtedly still busy eating outside and neither Nelle nor Landry could be seen.
"Huh, they must still be training. Ah well, good to see ya Nora!" A large bearded man in his 40's sauntered over, his black apron sporting the cheesy line "Saturday is a day for Dads." Across the front, a greasy dishrag hastily tucked into his pocket as he opened his arms for a hug which Nora eagerly gave. He smiled, but didn't make eye contact and when she let go, offered a gargantuan palm, blinking rapidly. Which I grabbed, fear of bones being crushed immediately set aside by the warmth in which he held it.
"Nice to meet ya, I'm Zunkle the head chef, but you can call me Zunk! You the new guy? You must be hungry, don't worry! I got a Stromboli with your name on it! Oh and lemme know if I'm too loud, I got ASD and I don't always know if I'm coming on TOO much!" He chuckled nervously, Nora patting his back.
"You're fine, Zunk. We'll let ya know if you become larger than life, I promise. Sal, you wanna eat right? The Stromboli is to die for! Plus, I can send the fighters over when you're ready, sound good?"
"Yeah, sure. Where are you off to?" I asked as she stretched out her arms.
"I gotta train, I'll catch up with you before the interval is over, kay? You can ask me what you need to know then. Promise." Her hazel eyes shimmered in the light, I didn't know how to respond.
Instead, I nodded sheepishly and she hurried off. Zunk put his arm around me and funnelled me past the fighters to get me seated. He nodded and excused himself, rummaging in the back room as he prepared the meal.
"Do you remember why they let you out, Sal?"
The voice is low, guttural and fills my ears. Looking up from the table, I saw the lights flickering and rapidly going out around me. One by one the surrounding tables were plunged into darkness, leaving only mine still dimly lit.
"Do you remember what put you there in the first place, Sal?"
My body is frozen in place, like sleep paralysis, but with some limited movement of my head. The air is fetid, cold, and something is shifting in the dark, but I'm unable to see it.
Whatever it is, it wants to keep its distance.
But as the eyes fixed on me, I felt a surge of memories run through my mind as if a tape was on fast forward. Scattered moments of birthdays past and happy mornings spent with loved ones, years stripped away in an instant before my head hung forward, a cold sweat dripping onto the table while the remainder of my body remained still. Clammy, cold hands run their fingers through my hair and down my face. I feel sick, like I'm this person's plaything. The eyes across from me stay fixated on me, the same guttural voice growling out as I feel the hands gently push my head to look at the table.
"A card. A bottle. A choice." Sure enough, a face down tarot card to the left, a piece of paper to the right and in the centre sat a bottle in the shape of a black human heart, ventricles and veins perfectly placed, letting the dark fluid rush around in its centre and creating a slight steam as it bubbled from the top ventricle. The label read: "The Society Of The Sunless Gives Unto You: The Kingmaker. With consumption, he ascended to his endless throne."
"A beast. A bar. A voice." The higher voice chimed behind me, rife with excitement. "The cycle repeats, the threat retreats and for now, rejoice."
They kept repeating it as the drink bubbled over, the black liquid congealing on the table before thick smoke billowed out, the card burning at the edges and the letter unfolding to show my invitation from the NFC.
My head swirled, the hands gripped harder, and I felt the higher-pitched voice come up to my ear, dragging its tongue along the nape of my neck and into my ear as I shivered.
"This time, it will be different. We promise."
The hands eased off and my body fell to the table, jumping up to fend them off, I was face to face with Zunk, carrying a piping hot tray with Stromboli and looking perplexed.
"You okay, Sal? I got your Stromboli, it's a speciality of mine."
"Ah, yeah, I'm good Zunk. Thanks. It's actually nice to have someone who works here show hospitality." He blinked and looked down at my shoes as he spoke.
"It's no trouble, having been here a while and with a bloodied past, I know what it's like to want to start again.. Oh, did Nelle tell you?" "Tell me what? Is the Stromboli not paid for?" I quipped, he laughed heartily.
"No, no. I'm your co-commentator until Nelle either wins or is booted from the wildcard! I've been here a while and I know my stuff, I promise!" He tapped his fingers nervously. "I don't want you thinking I'm just a glory hog.""Nah, if Nelle recommended you then it's all good for me." I noticed that Rex was staring at me as he belched the last of his drink. Had he seen something?
"AY! Lemme split that with you!" He bellowed, rushing over. I sighed, of course he hadn't seen. If it wasn't a fight or something to satisfy him, I doubt he'd see much else. He was an imposing mass of muscle and brawn that on most folks would scream intimidating. Especially considering what he did during his quarterfinal match. But now, he almost seemed chummy.
"A pair of warriors should always try to dine together!" He cried, slamming his fists down as Zunk awkwardly split it.
"At least it's not an odd number…" He mumbled, smiling to me and heading back to the kitchen. Rex stared at him as he disappeared, calling out to someone called Sancho to take over for the evening shift as the big door swung back and forth for a moment.
"Y'know he's The Jersey Devil, right? Dude has a sick history. And I do mean SICK." Rex smirked as he bit down into the Stromboli. The look of pain on his face when he felt the burning sensation run through his mouth was priceless. "Fuck, that's hot! Ain't nothing I can't handle, though."
We chatted for a while and to my surprise, Rex was pleasant. He had a prickly personality and was, to a degree, hotheaded, but he was passionate and dedicated to his gym. His reason for being here? He wouldn't say, but promised me it was worth all the broken bones he could muster.
After that, I spoke to Zanaya and Eustace, neither of which giving me much info on their motivations or techniques. Zanaya slurred his words, probably from the drinking and declaring "state secret" with a wavy hand before he moved me on. Eustace on the other hand repeatedly asked me if I wanted to "join the order" so that I could learn his secrets. I didn't.
Walking to Wendy, she sighed and bandaged her leg tighter.
"Anything I wanted to say has already been said, come back to me when I'm in the finals and I'll give you the interview of a fuckin' lifetime, kay? I got shit to prepare for." She was frustrated, that much was obvious. But the more she stared at Eustace, the more I worried she was overlooking the talent within her own bracket. In any case, I didn't want to be a bother, and I excused myself to look for the others.
No Nelle or Landry in sight, and the remainder of the competitors were unknown, so I cut my losses and made a beeline for the upper ring again. It took some confusing turns and repeatedly bumping into fans before I realised how lost I was. Everyone passed me by without so much as an acknowledgment, the announcement rang out that I had 30 minutes to get to my seat and do my usual prep. To put it simply; I was mildly freaking out.
"Hey, buddy. You look like you could use a drink."
I turned and saw that same small bar from earlier right opposite me, the doors open and a young man in his late 20's washing a cup in the doorway. He grinned as a Bernese mountain dog stood by his side, trying to get out and greet me, drool flecks already across his cheeks as he pants with joy.
"Not yet, buddy. Not the right time." He said before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small bottle wrapped in a thick black cloth. "You're gonna need this, don't open it until you're sat down. But when you do, read the instructions and keep it close. You'll thank me when the time comes."
I couldn't even say anything, staring incredulously as tired but wild eyes stared back at me from beneath thick circular black glasses. He whistled and the dog, eager as he was to see me, turned back to follow him. He leaned his head back to call to me one last time before the doors closed."Oh and.. it's good to see you again, Sal."
With that, the bar was shut, and I threw caution to the wind, running up the stairs and trying to retrace my steps with Nora as best I could. Thankfully, I made it with some time to spare. No Nelle sat beside me, but her book was propped up on the chair and I knew she wanted me to protect it.
The lights dimmed and Alduin resumed her spot in the centre of the pit with a swell of pride bubbling within her, the mic expertly in hand as the screen descended.
"Twisted freaks of nature, I welcome you back for the NFC OpenWeight semifinals and the remainder of The NFC Wildcard opening round! Before we kick things off, I'll be listing the competitors for The Wildcard. I hope you're ready!"
The crowd shows their approval as the screen starts filling in the blank boxes underneath Wendy and a now faded out JJ Watson.
"She's a bonafide killer from a bygone age; she finds tracks and eliminates crypts without prejudice! One half of our commentary team and a burning desire to fight one special member of our roster… The Huntress Madame Nelle Lockwood!"
Nelle took a bow and kept her expression neutral. She was focused and determined.
"Next up is someone we just HAD to give a chance to after we reviewed his "unique" case. He's our fight interviewer and a true warrior of his clan, Landry Eavy!"
Landry sheepishly waved as he adjusted his shorts, stretching out his calf muscles.
"Now it wouldn't be the NFC without some surprises, folks. Our first is a surprise even to me, but during the break I gave an audience to two unexpected individuals. One who's come back from the dead and another who… well… you'll see. First up, he's somehow returned from the depths of hell itself and achieved a true Nirvana state; Qwong Xiao!" Sure enough, a scarred and paler Qwong walks from the dugout and bows deeply. The veins on his muscles are black and his skin is almost translucent. But he radiated strength.
"Last, but by no means least, is an individual who made a point of entering when I informed him that he could not simply get into the main tournament, even with HIS credentials. Ladies and gentleman, he is the NFC Abyss Champion; Abaddon!"
I couldn't believe my eyes. The champion of nightmares, the same fucking thing that had came inches to my face and threatened to take out Nora when he saw fit, was now involving himself in this? The sounds of those locusts tore at my eardrums even from this distance as he walked into the pit and took off his broken, blackened belt to hold high for all to see. Alduin was beside herself with joy and bloodlust. The notion of Champ vs Champ must have been like ambrosia to her and to the crowd.
With that, The Wildcard roster was set, and we were due to get a match from each to kick things back off. Zunk came and took a seat next to me, his extremely large frame actually putting me at ease from any more potential would-be threats.
"You ready to do this, partner?" He looked nervous, eyes darting all around and breathing heavily, but he nodded as I pushed record. Alduin took to the mic right on cue;
"Let's not waste anymore time then, bring out the next competitors!"
Qwong stayed in his spot and stared down the elevator, whirring and coming to a stop. What rushes out is horrifying to behold; the golden beak, beady little black eyes, wiry bowl hair with a bald spot on the front and long thick claws on each digit; A kappa.
NFC WILDCARD OPENING MATCH: QWONG XIAO VS THE KAPPA
It didn't wait for Alduin to finish her announcement or to get out of the way, it simply rushed forward with the absolute desire to eviscerate in mind.
"I suffered the greatest shame and pain to get back here. I was devoured by the great beast, humiliated by the Whore of Babylon. All my teachings amounting to nothing. I climbed the tower and followed the thread. I am here now because of my perseverance." Qwong spoke with such calm elegance, his stance remaining neutral; a hand behind his back and standing upright. The Kappa did not stop charging, it passed Qwong and in that instant, fell to the floor. Its head being dragged by the momentum before it slammed into the opposite wall and coated it in a thick green fluid.
It turned, furious and charged again. Qwong adjusted his stance and outstretched a fist towards the beast, furrowing his brow.
"Come into my range and you'll return to dust."
But The Kappa persisted and the moment it was within a couple of feet, one large shot rang out that was so fierce, a small gust of wind blew up and threatened to knock my papers.
When the dust cleared, The Kappa lay in a heap with its entire skull concave. Twitching on the ground as Qwong prayed for a moment before returning to the dugout, unphased.
"MY GOD! HE JUST WRECKED HIM!" Zunk shouted, realising his volume was a little too loud and sitting back from the mic. "Man, Sal! You gotta admire the growth of this guy!"
"That's right, Zunk. From complete shut-out against the NFC Openweight pet "Gashadokuro" to decimating his enemy with one dodge and one incredible punch, I'd say Qwong Xiao has done more than enough to redeem himself in the eyes of the NFC and fight for his spot in the Openweight tourney!
Alduin, perched on the fence after the Kappa's charge, followed Qwong with her gaze as he sat down. He'd definitely piqued her curiosity. She leapt down and leaned back as she shouted at the top of her lungs;
"Qwong Xiao advances in our second Wildcard match! On with the violence!"
This time, it was Miroslav Zanaya taking point. He looked, for lack of a better word, wasted as all hell. Stumbling around and lackadaisical, it was very out of character for the usually stoic Dagestani. Still, he went into his usual position and seemed to have composure as Alduin announced his opponent emerging from the elevator.
"Our first semifinalist is The Dagestani Supersoldier; Miroslav Zanaya! But his opponent will certainly be a test for him not physically… but mentally. The Kikimora!"
What emerged stood on thick red chicken legs, a basic dress, white shirt and babushka hood covering the long black hair as two horns protruded from the base of the skull. Its skin was burnt, charred and blackened, the eyelids completely stripped away and leaving bulging, milky white eyes in its wake. The lips were pink and cut, rows of white pillar teeth hiding just behind it. The lower jaw sporting three large bulbous sacks that pulsated. It moved as if it was a flickering image, hard to keep focus on the more clarity the lights gave it. It felt wrong to stare at it for too long, despite it being my job.
NFC OPENWEIGHT SEMIFINALS: MIROSLAV ZANAYA VS THE KIKIMORA
"BEGIN!" The Kikimora flickered closer to Zanaya and something immediately felt wrong. Zanaya had his head bowed in the exact same way he'd done his previous fight, but I could see no motion or movement from him. The closer The Kikimora got, the more my anxiety and fear grew. This thing was going to rip him to pieces.
Grabbing the compendium, I flicked through until I fell upon the entry detailing what The Kikimora did. It was definitely a Russian demon that invaded dreams, but it had to physically TOUCH you in order to enact its abilities. So why was Zanaya not taking advantage?
Then I remembered seeing him at the bar earlier, his slurred responses during the interview. I wondered…
"Hey, Zunk. Do people sabotage fighters or fights here often?" He scoffed "Do I make a damn good Stromboli? Yes, yes they do. It's sometimes outside interests looking to make a bet, an old grudge or…" "Or what?" I pressed, he looked uncomfortable as he pulled at his sleeve, a grimace forming on his face.
"Or they want their spot in the tourney, by any means necessary."
The Kikimora wrapped its hands around Zanaya's arms and the nails dug deep into his flesh, pulling him up. I was expecting him to headbutt, fight back, or maybe even go into that unusual rage state he'd displayed for us before.
But instead, my worst fears were confirmed.
He was paralysed, his body a mere puppet for this horrific creature to play with. I watched in horror as The Kikimora's eyes grew wider and the lips parted to open the jaw. It pulled at his skin until a separation was made; what looked like a wisp of smoke emerged and The Kikimora eagerly grabbed it with a free hand and devoured it, dropping Zanaya to the floor and screeching as the crowd cheered.
"Well, would you look at that, folks! Our first Semifinalist eliminated, and it wasn't even a fight! What the hell happened to that super soldier power?!" Alduin seemed bemused, laughing as The Kikimora went back to the elevator and descended, licking its lips. Zanaya lay on the ground, eyes white and no movement.
"Why didn't it finish him? Was it feeling generous?" Zunk asked, leaning forward to look down at him, I trembled in my seat and closed the book, taking a sip of water with shaking hands and the fear of what this tournament and its alumni could do if they wanted.
"It did finish him. The Kikimora eats souls, not bodies. Someone wanted Zanaya vulnerable and they got it." As the next two competitors took to the pit, I remembered the bottle I had in my possession and I unfolded the cloth, realising just how much I may need this in the other bouts;
It was a silver bottle with a chain around it... ice cold to the touch with a combination lock over the cap and a code written on the inside of the cloth, a small note just beneath it;
"Professor Ambrose Ashton-Smith's Silver Tear Potion; Your cycle shall not end so long as you keep this close. One glass for injury, two for death."
"You'll know when the time is right. Good luck… and protect them. - Krauss."