Flashback Stronger

[Victus]

17th Day of Fall, 499AV
Tall Johnny's Casino and Cage Fights

At first, he'd noticed it in increments. The extra weight he could lift, extra pushups and situps, an extra burst of speed against Tarak... extra, extra, extra. It was only when he looked back and remembered what he was capable of a year ago that Victus was able to judge clearly how far he'd come.

The boy ran a curious hand down his torso, frowning at the hardness he found there. Before his servitude, that had been because everywhere he touched as protruding bone, just a wrap of flesh away from the surface. But now there was muscle, hard and lean, covering his stomach, his chest... and now his arms...

He flexed a bicep and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Gods, he almost couldn't see his elbow...

The latch clunked on the door and Johnny walked in to see his future investment admiring himself, though the rabbit-in-lamplight expression somewhat killed the moment. He cocked an eyebrow and stepped up to the slave as Victus snapped his arms to his sides and bowed his head, eyes roving around the cellar.

There had been changes, in the year and a season since the boy had arrived. In addition to the flour sack punching bag, the boy had made a rough kicking bag from a beam wrapped in old sacks, and set up a bar between some of the higher ones for pullups. The floor was... almost polished, and Johnny smirked at the reason.

Sparring feet for over a year. Worked better than lye and hot water.

Apart from the blood, of course. Victus managed to get most of the stains out when he was made to clean it after his training with Tarak, but sometimes there was a smudge, a stain, a smear that was too big or too deep to remove. Here and there Johnny watched his step, like he was avoiding patches of fungus.

Then he was before the boy himself. He'd filled out nicely. Proper food, daily training, chores... everything a growing lad needed. Of course he'd had to take the lash to him plenty of times, but slaves needed such education. Without it, they forgot their place, and then it was all work-work-work...

I gave him a better life in a year than he'd had in all the ones since he was born, and yet he still tries to run away? Fucking street rats.

"Liking what you see, Victus?"

"Yes, master."

"All that training did you good... don't you think, Tarak?"

Victus' gaze raised a fraction to see the big Akalak move into the room with more grace than a man his size had any right to have. Tall, broad, packed with slabs of muscle, he still walked like a panther; light and tightly-controlled. The Akalak grunted his reply, of course. Victus had never heard him speak. Neither had Johnny, for that matter.

"Hmm, I agree." Johnny stared down at the boy for a long time, and the slave had grown used to those looks. Master was thinking. No, more than that... calculating. Factoring in variables and options and possibilities, narrowing down the risk, coming to a decision. He smoothed down his tuxedo and spoke again. "I think he's almost ready for the cage..."

That made Victus forget his training and look his master straight in the eye, his own wide as eggs. Johnny chuckled at it, arms crossed, eyebrow cocked.

"Surprised?"

"Y... Yes, master."

"It has been a year, after all. More than that. Nearly every week you've had Tarak pounding you, and lately you've been giving as good as you get." The businessman shrugged slightly, as if a sin of omission was beneath him (ha, fat petching chance). "... before he inevitably crushes you, of course, but progress is progress."

"You... really think I am ready?"

Johnny's good humor crumbled in an instant when he saw the question was directed at Tarak - the hired fucking help - and not to him: Victus' lord and master. Teeth gritted tight, his hand snapped out and gripped the boy's hair, turning him painfully back to his gaze.

"I decide, boy. I'm the one paying this man, I'm the one who allows you to train and hone that body you suddenly love so much, I'm the one who feeds you and shelters you, do you petching understand me?!"

Victus barely felt the sting in his scalp as he nodded furiously, keeping his eyes downcast. Master could be... mercurial, like this, at times. One moment smiles and pride and jokes, the next...

Not all the blood was from training. Rod and lash and... worse things had been used on his bare body. Some days Victus was glad he couldn't see his back, save for vague sensations when he felt a shirt slide over it.

It felt like a gravel road on his skin, full of bumps and curves he knew weren't meant to be there.

"Y-Yes, master!"

"Good..." The hand vanished, and so did the mood. Victus felt the nervousness gnaw at him even more when that happened. So changeable. You never knew when it would come out. "Now... as I was saying, I think that you are ready, and Tarak has agreed to test me on that..."

The Akalak nodded at his cue and clapped his hands twice. At once a lean young man in Dragoon colors marched into the room from outside, hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, eyes alert and eager to please. He stood to attention before Tarak like he was back at the Barracks.

Victus took him in. Barely a man, if that. He still had spots and bad skin, and the beard he was trying to grow in? Best to leave that a few more years; at that point it just looked like someone had stuck a handful of rat fur to his face.

But he was bigger, with more reach, and probably more muscle. Victus cast his lidded eyes over the man, observing him like he always did Tarak in the frozen moments of their sparring.

"Young... Efrain, wasn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Efrain, here, is a new recruit to the Dragoons. Not really started his training yet and when I heard of that, I had an idea..."

Johnny leaned down to give Victus a smile that had nothing to do with humor.

"Let's see how he does against real training... if not equal size."

As Victus gaped, Efrain began to strip.

[Victus]

Victus knew by now that there was no point in further words. Master had decided something, and when it came to his property, he did not change his mind. As the trainee Dragoon disrobed, the slave backed up and flexed his shoulders, letting the movement travel down his arms, torso, legs...

Cloth studded with metal, leather bracing a short sword, they clunked onto the wooden floor until Efrain stood there, shirtless and down to his breeches and boots. Victus flashed a look down at them quickly-

Work boots. Tough. Have to stay away from those.

-then to the boy's physique-

Lean. Not sculpted, but certainly not one for sloth. He can move, and he has strength.

-then Efrain put his hands up in a guard and approached, stepping swiftly across the floor with a predatory sheen to his hazel eyes.

He's overconfident. Use that.

Victus mirrored his stance but kept his knees bent, lifted on the balls of his feet, ready to move-

-as Efrain jabbed out with his right, shoulder dipping a broken tick before the same way Tarak's did when he chose to alert Victus of an incoming blow. The boy had no such desire for education, however.

Victus swayed to his side, his own right slamming a body blow onto Efrain's side as his feet slid across to the older boy's left-

-left hand launching a straight at that wispy so-called beard-

But Efrain wasn't totally unschooled. He wouldn't have made it to the training yards of the Dragoons if he was. He grunted as a miniature hammer smacked into his side but had the presence of mind to keep his left guard up, ducking his head behind it-

Bone smacked into bone as knuckles bet forearm, Victus grunting at the pain. Johnny noticed but kept his face impassive. The boy had to get used to that, too. Bareknuckle always drew more blood, and that was what the crowds came to see. He flicked a glance at the expressionless Akalak as the boy circled each other, then tried out one of his variety of winning smiles.

"... care to make a wager, Tarak?"

The Akalak turned his boulder-like head slowly to him... fixed him in a dead, stony gaze... then turned back to the fight.

Johnny rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath as he searched his pockets for a cigarillo.

"Just petching asking..."

Victus barely even heard the words exchanged beyond the pounding in his ears. Efrain hardly had training, but he had more years on the street than him, and in Sunberth, those years twixt boy and manhood taught you hard lessons. His hand lashed out to grab at Victus' hair, holding him in place-

-and the boy ducked away from the pressing fingers, knees to bent for a kick-

-punching out with both hands into Efrain's guts, knocking him back. Ah, those muscles weren't just for show. He truly was stronger... perhaps as strong as the one who opposed him. And if that were so...

With a wild grunt-yell he flew at the older boy, legs exploding under him into a jump, left leg snapping out to aim a kick at the boy's side-

-only for Efain to drop it, showing teeth now in his embarrassment, lashing out with those boots as Victus landed-

Now the slave was tottering back, steel-capped boots far larger than his own feet nearly denting his chest as he staggered. His hand went to it instinctively, until the mere touched sent his skin screaming and he threw his guard back up-

-Efrain came charging in, but then ducked to his side just before he got there-

-snapping out a left hook down at the shorter boy's head, forcing his guard up, and high, leaving his chest open-

-for the knee that doubled Victus over, robbing him of breath, balance, even vision-

-and he felt strong, sinewy arms wrap around his head and neck, pressing him close to Efrain's bare torso.

Shards. Of. Pain. Each one the punctuation of a punch the big boy stabbed into his side from the right, working his ribs and kidney like a man tenderizing meat as he held Victus there, waiting for his legs to finally go-

Victus' eyes snapped open in rage as he felt the flow of the fight slipping from him, adrenaline and anger overriding his pain for the precious ticks he needed-

-to reach down and hook his hands behind Efrain's knees, jerking them back and up towards his stomach-

-taking the boy's footing with a surprised squawk-

-sending him slamming back first onto the floor, but he kept his grip on Victus, the slave's head now jammed near his breastbone, arms scrabbling over his body-

Tarak snorted softly as Efrain started to roll the boy onto his back. He was still too small. Strength? That mattered. Training? That mattered even more. Dedication? Nothing mattered more. But there was a difference in sheer size that obliterated those. You just had to find it.

It would be as if Tarak were fighting a man two feet and a hundred pounds larger than him, and a man who was no stranger to violence, either. Maybe he could win the bout, but...

And the boy was far from him. Not even close.

Victus was getting desperate. He bit down hard and Efrain screamed a curse, feeling sharp teeth slice into him and damn-near scrape his ribcage, he wiggled and flailed on his side, finally letting go-

-giving the Victus a tiny opening to slam his knees onto either side of the larger boy, ripping his head free from his grip-

-both arms coming up-

He needed only a tick to gauge his target, the distance, chamber his fists properly-

"Atta' boy!"

Johnny whooped out his satisfaction as Victus started to rain down blows on Efain. The Dragoon-to-be threw up his arms instinctively as fists stronger than any the boy's age had a right to be started pounding into his forearms. Then when he realized they wouldn't get to his head, Victus started going for his upper arms, the top of his head, whatever of his torso was exposed-

-finally gripping the sides of his, grabbing a handful of hair in each and pulling it forward-

-then slamming it back onto the floor. Hard.

Efrain yelped and his whole body seemed to spasm at the impact. His fingers started to quest and grope, desperate and-

Tarak's lips twisted. Still larger. Still stronger.

-as he braced both hands at Victus' left side and heaved like he was pushing a bag of potatoes off a cart. The slave boy flew off him and landed heavily, position of dominance gone, back on his knees, knuckles bloody-

The shadow fell over him. He'd grown so used to it being Tarak, looming and vast and utterly focused. But now it was Efrain. Almost as small to Tarak as Victus was to him, but more than large enough.

Now rage clouded his eyes, blood leaking from his mouth only adding to the hellish visage, only half-lit by the dim lanterns. Victus braced himself, and then Efrrain was on him.

[Victus]

Years later, when he looked back on that fight, Victus knew it was over in that last clash. He'd wounded Efrain; not just his body, but his precious pride. Tarak had taken him for a "special assignment", and he was being humiliated by a boy not even up to his throat. More was at stake now than a simple job to be done; it was about vengeance.

That gave him that extra swell of anger he needed. Perhaps the boy saw that, halfway to his feet, already sheened with sweat and panting. But all he could do was fight. He would not curl into a ball and beg for mercy.

They'd taken all from him. His family, his freedom, a year of his life with only snatches of sunlight... but he could still fight. It was that last sliver of him Master had not claimed, and Victus lurched towards Efrain as he lunged-

-catching his swinging boot across his torso like a headless hammer.

It knocked him back onto the floor and then a great, warm weight pressed down on his chest, straddling him. Knuckles smacked into his face and he felt something break, low in his jaw. Coppery, salty blood filled his mouth and he threw up a hand, trying to ward off-

-failing-

-the next punch that cracked into him high on his forehead.

His brain wouldn't work. He'd taken punches before, but Efrain wasn't holding back anymore. Rage and embarrassment flushed his features as he drew back and Victus was flung back to his childhood brawls-

-and used the first thing a smart man learned in a gutter fight: got for the balls.

Johnny winced and made a low, wobbling sound of sympathy as Victus' knee shot up between Efrain's legs, hard enough to raise the older boy's voice by an octave when he cried out in pain. Efrain seemed to freeze then fall in on himself, thoughts of pummeling Victus' face into mush vanishing as everything below his pelvis suddenly became a blinding lump of pain-

-Victus seized his moment and shoved a hand into the boy's face, fingers squirming, questing over soft and turgid features until they found his mouth-

He put two fingers into the side of it, and pulled.

Efrain made a sound... somewhere between a wail and a curse and a shriek, all screwed together. His cheek tore at the corner of his mouth and he went rocking off the slave, hands coming up to his ruined face in shock, feeling sticky, warm blood spewing over it.

Victus tried to rise again, head woozy, vision doubled, trying, trying-

-Efrain's right hook caught him neatly in the temple, and his vision gave up the ghost. Black stars and bursting red Synas blotted out everything in an instant, heavy needles of pain lancing through his skull, shuddering down his spine and his limbs-

Everything went comfortably and terrifyingly numb. He was aware of the impacts. The thudding blows to his face and torso, but they were so... distant. Like he was feeling them through cotton wool, as if his body was protecting him by not letting him feel too much of it.

Then a bark split through the heavy fog. That was the only name for it: a wet, sharp sound without words, but that was all it took for Efrain to cease his revenge and stagger back to his feet.

Tarak had seen enough. So had Johnny.

Victus was floating under the sea. Every inch of him seemed submerged, flurry... indistinct. The voices and shuffling vibrated into him rather than making noise. He felt himself cough, and it was so detached from himself that he was sure he was dying, under the water and only those gleaming floorboards...

"See what the lil' cunt did to me?! Fuckin' nearly took my face off-"

"You're being compensated, boy, and that's the end of-"

"Fuck does 'compensated' mean?! Jus' lemme take an eye outta him and we'll call it-"

"You will stay by your bargain! Yours and your commander's!" Master's voice went from firm to fury within a tick; even blind and near-deaf, Victus could imagine Efrain cringing, Taak standing impassively. There were two soft clinks, bags of metal placed in willing hands. "Tarak, for your services... and for you, for your... troubles. You may want to go to the Doctor with that face."

"Well, I wasn't going to the fuckin' seamstresses!"

"They could do the same thing, I'd wager."

Efrain cursed in fluent Sunberth Scumbag for a good few ticks, then Victus heard him leave... and finally saw it, too. Chest heaving, futilely trying to pump air back into him, his head flopped to one side and his one good eye could see Tarak and Johnny. One cold, the other shaking his head...

"Not good enough, hmm?"

Tarak just grunted his reply. Johnny stroked his moustache.

"Well... not too old to see you off, boy."

"Nuh... Nuh..."

Through a mouth filled with blood and teeth fragments, Victus tried to beg. Whatever pride he had had been battered out of him like spirit from a broken stallion. All he wanted to do was let the floor be his grave; let the blood ooze out of him and erase the pain...

That would be better than another life in chains. Anything but that. But he needed to prove it, and in a series of motions that seemed momentous and excruciating at once, he managed to brace his arms... then get to his knees... then his feet.

His head pounded and even scurrying rats sent bells screaming in his skull. Blood oozed from his lips, his cheeks, his nose... and that didn't feel like it would ever straighten again. The slave boy swayed on his feet and then the training snapped at his muscles-

He settled into a ready stance. Glaring through one eye, beating down the desperation and despair that was always biting at his soul.

You exist to fight, and to win. You are stronger, but not strong enough. You need to make them see that, but for today... survive.

"Uh kuhn..." The words were garbled and blotted with blood, so he spat a goblet's worth onto the floor. "I can... fight... fight again..."

Taak blinked, and rubbed his mouth so... was that a smile Victus saw, flying over his lips for just a tick? No, surely not. But Johnny didn't even bother to hide his, swanning over with an ugly mixture of pride and power making his features glow darkly.

"Well, well, well... still some fire. What a crowd-pleaser you could be, boy..." He devoted more time than he needed to his thoughts. Victus knew another thing about Master: he did so love these moments of power he held over his lessers. He savored them like other men craved wine or sumptuous women. "... another year, perhaps. One more. You will grow in that time, as the gods and Caiyha usually have boys grow. That much closer to being a man..."

He leaned forward and Victus didn't let the mask slip.

Never let him see. Not any of them. You are Victus, and you fight. That is all.

"... and if not, I'll sell you to the nearest basement fuckhole and that will be that. Sound agreeable?"

"Yuh... Yes... Master..."

[Vanari]

Victus

Observation	+3 XP
Unarmed Combat	+3 XP
Brawling	+3 XP
Endurance	+3 XP
Intelligence	+1 XP
Tactics	+2 XP

Lores :

• Tall Johnny is Master, Not Tarak
• Efrain: A Test Before Cage
• Efrain: Wounded Pride
• Efrain: Size Matters
• Proving One's Fighting Worth
• I Am Victus, And I Fight
• Tall Johnny: Man Up or Be Sold

Notes :

Simply superb ^_^ I gave extra combat points because of how well and thoroughly written the fight scenes were. Looking forward to reading more!

Please don't hesitate to PM me with questions, comments, or concerns! Also, remember to edit your grade request as "graded."

Cheers