All Aboard the Asswhooping Express(Closed to Red)

Clang!

The sound of hammer on metal rang like thunder throughout the entire wing of the House of Cards, vanishing just as quickly as it had erupted to life.

Clang!

Another decisive strike filled the air, as if some sort of canon had just sounded. Vincent Cain paused for a moment as he hovered in front of a massive titanium portal. The door, artfully crafted by one resident Titan, depicted a roaring lion being tamed by a beautiful queen. Beneath the scene, the roman numeral VIII was carved and inlaid with silver alongside a message.

“Power from within” Vince found himself muttering. He chewed his lower lip and sighed. Flashes of his own blood spilled over dry desert sand filled his vision as he recalled his most recent death. He’d been caught off guard and disarmed by the bandits he’d been hunting. Such a careless mistake could have been disastrous had it not been for his latent ability to regenerate from the pure magical energy that seemed to now be his body. Although the wounds had healed, and his blood was now all back where it needed to be, the shame remained. He, Vincent Cain, Lord Emperor of the Tarot Hierarchy, Podeslayer, leader of the Raiaeran Reclamation, Licensed Badass, had been killed by bandits.

Fucking bandits.

Had he been mortal, this would have fucked up months if not years of careful planning and preparation. It would have resulted in the most devastating collapse within the Tarot Hierarchy, the fallout leaving the world open for catastrophic consequences. It would have hamstrung the efforts of the people of Raiaera in their efforts to reclaim their home, if not ruining their chances altogether.

All because Vince had let himself be disarmed.

That was going to end, right here and right now. The scholar took a deep breath and reached for the door, only to have the massive portal be jerked open in front of him. Standing in the massive opening was John Cromwell, the scourge of House Brand, the titanium titan of the Tarot Hierarchy, and the Stregnth Arcana. The grizzled man took one look over Vince’s form and smirked for a moment.

“Need somethin?” The giant grunted raising an eyebrow. He towered head and shoulders over Vince, and wore naught but a pair of patched leather trousers. His abs were covered in a thick layer of graying fur, slick with sweat as he had just apparently finished whatever he had been working on. Vince looked up at the giant man for a moment and gave him a half smile.

“Got a moment?” he asked. The giant mulled the thought over for a moment and took a step back, gesturing to a barrel as he crossed the massive room.

“Grab a seat.” He grunted as he plopped down on an unused anvil. “Didja break your sword or somethin?”

Vince wrapped his arms around the barrel and hefted it up, staggering across the forge as he plopped it down and took a seat, wiping some soot from his plain white cotton shirt. He paused for a moment and glanced around the room. When he’d first found this room it was a ramshackle cave filled with rust and dust. Now, the giant had managed to bring the whole thing back to its former glory. The forge was now heated by a reopened vent of lava, complexly designed to safely tap into the natural heat of the world. Several completed suits of armor stood on racks, awaiting the day they would one day be needed.

“Are you gonna answer me or stare at the room?” John growled.

“Sorry,” Vince replied snapping his attention back to the man in front of him. “I’m a little distracted. I was wondering if you had an abundance of free time on your hands in the near future.” The giant raised an eyebrow and reached into his trouser pocket, pulling a cigar from his literal infinite source of them and lighting it on a nearby torch.

“Perhaps,” the giant muttered between puffs. “Is it a mission?”

“No,” the scholar muttered shaking his head. “I need you to teach me how to fistfight.”

John sucked on the cigar and smirked at Vincent. This emperor, this boy wanted training? Never mind his obscene magical abilities, his swordplay was exceptional, and he could open rifts in time and reality to places unknown.

And he wanted to know how to fistfight.

The half-giant tilted his head, subtly analyzing Vincent's fighting style, such as it was. Most of what he saw of his emperor was swordplay, but even then there would be a certain translation of style that would happen. First, and chief among his concerns, was the boy's flamboyance. There was a certain fluidity to his swordplay, true, but there would be wasted movements as it came down to hand to hand combat. From there, it would simply be basic training. The boy could learn, and he was fast. Maybe they could start with something basic.

John chuckled as he settled on an idea.

"Hahaha, Vincent. That's a good idea, considering your recent untimely demise. "Did you recover your equipment?"

Vince tensed up a bit at John’s rather blunt jab. He took each death rather personally, and he wasn’t usually forthcoming about when he had just recovered from being felled. Yet anyone who had attempted to pay him a visit in his quarters would have seen the telltale sign of blue flashes under his door, an unfortunate coincidence it would seem. The giant was right however, so the scholar had to give him some credit.

“My gear vanishes when I die, back into the ether where I pull it all from.” He replied coolly. This was an odd moment for him, he hated to admit defeat like this, but John’s martial prowess was monstrous. If anyone could teach him the finer points of punching your way out of a fight, it would be the Scourge of House Band.

“That being said, where shall we practice? Here in the forge or up one level in the practice arena?” The scholar mused. “I imagine we’ll need plenty of space?” He had no doubt that the two of them would make an absolute mess as the practiced brawling. The idea of taking a punch from the giants massive fists sent a shiver down his spine, but he would have to tough it up.

John chuckled.

"Not here, too many breakables. Like the anvil," he said, clapping Vincent on the shoulder as they left the room. Up a flight of steps and around a winding corridor brought them before a glowing portal, a stone statue of a man in robes beside it. The stone monk spoke, glancing upward at the two of them.

"Going somewhere I see?" He asked, turning to the portal. "Where would you like?"

John spoke up. "Simple arena, like the one I fought in last week."

The monk waved his hand, and the portal sprung to life with blue energy. "Very well,"

John led the way, stepping forward, feeling a tug at reality as his vision twisted into shapes anew, cast with bright sunlight across a starkly white marble platform in a courtyard, with a treeline beyond. A ring of darker stone marked a boundary, perhaps thirty feet across and with ten paces to spare on the outside. He strode forward, knowing that Vincent would follow. Honestly, as he walked, he thought on how he would teach his newfound pupil. So many had taught him, so many tricks, tips, and moves he had absorbed; but never cast a thought to giving them out once again.

Maybe I'll look into that.

But for now, another flash of blue brought Vincent into his world.

Start with the basics.

He spoke clearly.

"Stance?"

Vincent smirked, lowering his center of gravity and spreading his legs, holding out two fists.

"First of all, Vincent, we're not going to box. I'm not gonna teach you boxing, I'm going to teach you fighting. First thing's first, footwork. I step here..." John said, taking a step to the side.

Vincent smirked a little, stepping opposite him, causing them to rotate around an invisible center.

But he had a flaw. He was a touch too close. The half-giant snapped forward with inhuman speed, jabbing at his head with a massive fist. True to his own speed, Vincent dodged easily, but failed to see the boot careening toward his stomach. It was a quick strike, but lacked the follow-through to be truly devastating, and caught the Emperor just below his sternum, driving him to his back on the marble.

"Good, but fistfighting isn't just boxing, and it definitely isn't swordfighting. You're not swinging a sword, so you can come up on your toes, be more nimble that way."

Vincent rolled over, getting up as John crossed the distance between them and planted a firm kick to the boy's side, sending him tumbling over the marble, skidding to a stop. He called to him, backing away a little.

"And there's no honor in a fistfight, you know."

The succession of strikes set a blistering pace for combat. True to the pace to all of his past mentors, John had decided for the “straight into the deep end” strategy of teaching. So far all he had managed to land were strikes with his feet, but Vincent’s abdomen felt like he’d been hit by a truck.

He couldn’t imagine what the giant’s titanium covered fists were capable of.

Scrambling to his feet, Vince saw the next strike coming and was able to dodge with ease. His sapphire eyes scanned for any openings the giant had left, but before he could get a good evaluation of his form, John was coming at him with the right hook. Vince took a step back and pivoted his body, causing John’s fist to clip the scholars side. Wincing, Vince managed to scramble behind the giant to prepare a counterattack, jabbing swiftly at any soft spots in the man's armor before attempting to retreat.