Luc versus Jack: In the Sack (...?)

[Cyrus the virus]

((I'm not good with titles :o))

The breeze was slight, if it was to be felt at all - providing only a gentle nudging to the hair on Luc's head. It was a listless thing, perfectly defeated. Dominated. The wind belonged to the mage, was his possession to manipulate; it served him as fully as the most loyal knight served his king.

It was but one of several elements that personified the arena, all of which represented servitude to Luc Kraus. The perfect testament to his absolute control, and only he was aware of the symbolism the arena provided. That was all he needed to beam with pride, for he could sense the skittish nature of the land, the subservience.

Miles of flat earth stretched out before him. Jagged stones littered the ground as far as he could see, jutting out from the ground in every direction. Blackened on the surface, the soil had been charred by a rain of fire that long ago ceased. Though nature itself had bowed out, streams of water ran through cracks in the earth that were carved there.

Luc seemed a figure of solitude as he stood against the darkness, hands on his hips as he chewed the remains of a tobacco stub. His cape hung from his shoulders, reaching the brim of his boots. His emerald eyes were turned to the sky, dusky with a veiled, setting sun.

Only a few boulders obscured his vision of the entire arena, providing an opponent with little place to hide. With the firepower Luc could summon, it was a challenger's worst nightmare to constantly be in his range of sight. Just the way the mage liked it.

[Jobe]

Seven hours before the match..

The muddled, brackish water that sat calmly within the porcelain basin rippled as chunks of lather and hair landed in the pool with several plops. Gazing into a glossy mirror I examined my work as I cocked my head at a strange angle and continued to loudly scrape away whatever facial hair I had. I wasn't accustomed to shaving as most would have assumed, I had had this beard for years, and would only tend to trim or detail it when it became necessary. In fact, I was pretty sure that three of my five ex-wives would probably fall over dead if they had seen me doing this.

Some might call shaving a habit to keep themselves looking sharp, others did it because they hated the feel of hair against their face-- I usually did it when I was about to kill somebody and needed to look inconspicuous while doing it. I had no idea how thorough the Pagoda's management would be in informing my opponent of my challenge, and for all I knew they could've given him my picture and a file to go along with it. Bringing the razor against my right cheek I grinned at the thought; a picture of me? Where?

I kept mistaking Althanas for Earth more and more these days, but it would still be wise to air on the side of caution. I needed a disguise, especially with this guy, and if I even wanted to get within spitting distance of him I'd need to fool him somehow. I couldn't speak for my opponent, but I had made sure to do my homework on him just to make sure I didn't overlook anything. The 'magician' had a past that ran wide and long, which didn't make it as hard to look for him as I had imagined it would've been. Glancing at one side of the mirror from memory, I saw the fat manila folder stuffed with papers, reports, and documents sitting upon the chair behind me that led me down the bloody trail of Luc Kraus.

Maybe I could play to his ego, my brain chimed in.

The thought had already occurred to me, and I knew I was going to have to put on an act that rivaled the bigwigs in Hollywood, but I knew enough about cons that I could probably put one over on this guy. I had already read most of his file, but in a few hours I'd have to put it to good use. Whatever he had done within the last few years I had a fair understanding of, and I was beginning to think I had an alternative reason for shaving my beard.

Cleaning off my straight razor and laying it on the basin, I looked up and rubbed my clean shaven face and felt the answer come to me like a foul stench,"When all else fails, at least when I get roasted I won't be able to remember the smell of my singed beard burning right from under my nose."

Somehow, the truth of it stuck.

***

Standing in the shadow of the thick steel doors before the arena, I felt a weight against my stomach that would make most men nauseated as I looked at the arena sat before me. Given the circumstances and his area of expertise, I guess I shouldn't have been surprised that there were even fewer places to hide that weren't within running distance. A few shadowed alcoves, a couple of boulders big enough to hide me if I ducked down, but somehow I knew that unless this worked I probably wouldn't make it to any of those places unless I was luckier than my gut was telling me right now. My track record and Kraus' history begged to differ.

I hadn't a clue where the mage had chosen to stand, but I was willing to hazard a guess that it'd be the farthest wall out there, probably to keep me from sneaking up to him. At face value anybody who knew me would probably never even recognize me in disguise, but in these clothes I always felt a little less confident than I should've been. Feeling the weight of the folder in my hand and the assortment of weapons hidden in and around my suit, I knew the only person holding up this battle of wits at this point was me. I had spent weeks preparing for this and probably had more effort and knowledge of my opponent than he did of me, but if I didn't make the most of it now I wouldn't even make it half way into the arena before he got suspicious.

"Show time," I muttered.

Putting up a stony face of the Pagoda coordinator whose name was as simple as this outfit I was wearing, I moved forward and into the light of day. Making it about ten paces into the arena, I instinctively raised my hands in the air in a sign of neutrality and shouted to nobody in particular, "Mister Kraus! This is Douglas Tombs of the Pagoda; we have a problem."

Time to see if he'd take the bait.

[Cyrus the virus]

As far as the eye could see, the arena's dead earth extended. Miles upon miles of charred soil blanketed the horizon, a bed below an orange, sunless sky that mirrored the listless existence of the ground. Luc's emerald eyes traveled the land aimlessly, in curiosity and in anticipation of what was to come. Beneath the wiry, folded arms of the wizard, his heart beat with steady calm.

Douglas Tombs' voice broke the sacred silence of the geomancer's wasteland, tore him from his silent readiness. Uttering a grunt as he turned his head toward the left, Luc let his arms fall to his sides, face twisting into a frown.

"Problem?" he asked to the open sky, seconds before a robed form rounded a featureless boulder and came into sight.

Jack Barrett's strength was the respect he'd approached with. Presenting a shaven, nearly boyish face and the appropriate attire of a Pagoda employee, Jack looked the part he sought to play. With the perfect, near-undetectable waver in his voice, nothing about the scene gave Luc cause for concern.

Jack Barrett's strength was his intellect, the wisdom to think on his feet and approach an otherwise lopsided battle in a way that gave him the advantage.

Jack Barrett's strength was Luc's weakness. For a man who focused such a large amount of time into looking past the surface of a spell, whether it was an enchantment or a fireball, Luc didn't think for a second that Douglas Tombs was anything beyond what he was making himself out to be.

The earth hardly gave beneath the heavy steps of the mage's boots. Dry and burned, it cracked beneath him as Luc closed the gap between himself and the Pagoda worker. Around them, narrow streams of shallow water, their source unknown, ran southward. The wasteland watched them anxiously, so rarely did life trod its barren flesh.

"What kind of problem are we having, Douglas? If I've been called here from my comfortable life in the city for no purpose, neither one of us is going to be very pleased."

[Jobe]

The farther I walked into the arena, the more the walls that surrounded Kraus and I began to melt away into rugged, sharp badlands that looked to have been lost and forgotten. The dry, cracked landscape seemed to roll endlessly in every direction, like that of an old, aged map being unfurled. The illusion had been so skillfully done that in the back of my mind I wasn't completely sure where it began and where it had ended. For all I knew, the arena could've been a ruse the entire time in order to keep that last bit of surprise until the last moment to send those that challenged the Pagoda off kilter. Dropping my hands to my sides, I supposed that if I had chosen a profession different from one that demanded the unexpected arose and preparation run seamlessly together, I'd have betrayed my intentions and my face.

Lucky me.

A stroke of intoxicating nostalgia caught my attention and my heart began to race faster as I felt the adrenaline begin to trickle down into the rest of my body. The old, familiar excitement that rushed through my veins caught me off guard as I tried to place it. My stride slowly began to pick up as I moved towards the mage, and a part of my mind began to work overtime in order to place whatever it was. Each step I took propelled me further and further into that excitement that felt so familiar to me that it was as if I knew it like the back of my hand. What was it?

What are you prattling on about, I thought as I noticed I was only a couple of yards away from my opponent. Four or five paces later in solemn silence my brain clicked as the thought overcame me like that of a eureka moment. It was the sort of thing one rarely forgets after experiencing it once or twice, and I probably should've kicked myself for missing such a large detail. I had felt it exude from my victims when my garrote was pulled tight on their throat or the steel of my blade poked at their back when they finally realized what it was and at the same time knowing it was far too late to take that one step forward or backward that would've delayed the inevitable. It was helplessness.

All around me the wasteland seemed to bleed and push that feeling into me as I walked farther and farther into the lion's den. It was something a murderer like me would recognize in a heartbeat, and someone far more twisted than I would ritualize and do over and over again to achieve the same thrill and knowledge that they had absolute dominance over another life for that brief flicker of a moment. The place was ripe with it, and I enjoyed every second of it. Call me a junkie or somebody who has their life entirely wrapped around this one vice, but this was the one feeling that felt better than a climax, better than any drug that one could ever take, and it was something I and countless others shared.

Slowly my mind drifted back into place as I felt my attention begin to swoon and the threat of Kraus not so present in my mind. I'd have to recount and savor this later, for I came within twelve paces of the mage I had prepared so cunningly to kill. Pulling off a disguise was taxing at best if one knew how to do it correctly, and despite whatever adrenaline spike I had, the anxiety still rested in the pit of my stomach. Lies were easy. Rarely when one lied would they have to spend seconds that seemed like hours and minutes that seemed to span into infinity trying to keep everything together while juggling the realization that if what they had weaved and planned hadn't been accepted, they were dead.

I hadn't mastered the art of disguise completely, but for those first few minutes I approached those who hadn't a clue of my real intentions, they were in the palm of my hand. To describe it would be like explaining what controlled the weather, but one thing was clear; when that anxiety hadn't hit to level me out, I was obviously doing something wrong. Fortunately, this wasn't the case.

In whole, whatever thoughts, plans, or guesswork I made out from the entrance all the way to my opponent could be squeezed into twenty-three seconds and some change left over. When I stood before Luc Kraus, I realized how truly short the self-indulged, bloody tyrant was. And upon level ground too. Great, I thought, that would make it all the harder to keep him in the dark when I'm looking down at him. Choosing to stop less than five paces away to maintain the illusion we were on even ground, I felt my stoic face crack into a frown as I moved the folder up and opened it, revealing a pile of papers that were meant to be field reports, documentation, and contestant profiles, but upon closer inspection three or four papers down, it just moved into complete gibberish that any real Pagoda official would turn their nose at.

A detail that my opponent would probably never realize until it was too late.

Clucking my tongue as the real Douglas was so accustomed to do when delivering bad news, I flipped through a couple papers and revealed a detailed report of myself excluding a photograph and sighed, "Mister Kraus, as Pagoda Coordinator and as much as I'd like to say that your trip over to our fine facilities was time well spent, I'm afraid to inform you of a delay; Your opponent, Jobe, has run into a bit of trouble that has him strung out upon a physician's table. I'm sorry to notify you, sir, that your battle has been postponed."

[Cyrus the virus]

A sigh oozed from him, lengthly and seeping with annoyance. Corone was not a far fly for a man who could transform into wind, but several hours of Luc's day had apparently been wasted. Douglas had shuffled over in his miserable garb, revealed the papers within his big-man folder, and delivered the news with flat monotone and necessity.

The wasteland grew loud with his sudden frustration, as the water rushed faster and the wind picked up, scattering pebbles along the flat, dead earth. The land could sense it's master's feelings, showed its understanding with movement and life.

Luc put his hands on his hips, cast his head down and closed his eyes, trying to maintain some composure in light of the revelation. Rising up to full posture once again, he quickly slapped the folder from Douglas' hands. "No."

Shaking his head determinedly, the mage stared cold-eyed at the Pagoda employee. "If my opponent cannot make it to my arena, and you already happen to be here, Douglas, you'll have to take his place. I was called here to defend my position, and defend it I shall. If your superiors have a problem with that, they can discuss it with you in the infirmary."

Shades of the impatient, impulsive Luc Kraus of recent times crawled forth. The mage didn't like to have his time wasted, however reasonable the explanation was, and it appeared that Douglas was the one who would pay for it. Good, Luc thought, for he didn't like the smug lack of reverence that the man had given him. He drew the Slykrit Blade, a red-tinted rapier whose tip suddenly dug into the ground by the mage's foot.

Jack Barrett's weakness was the rage of Luc Kraus.

[Jobe]

My eyes widened with surprise when he reached over and knocked my folder out of my hand, and if there was any feeling of remorse for what I planned to do to this guy prior to meeting him, it was now completely gone. When Kraus's face darkened and he declared that I'd be his next victim because his time had been wasted, I felt the calm, methodical part of my brain narrowly grab the reins to my temper and corral it back into its pen. That was probably the only reason I could think of that saved me from forgetting about this egomaniac's range of power and cause me to reach over and throttle him.

My expression soured as he planted the rapier at his feet and the forged papers and documents that were picked up and hurled into a gust of wind blew haphazardly between us. I suppose what he might have called righteous anger for time poorly spent I could easily turn around and call it a grown man throwing a tantrum, but there wasn't much point in mincing words with Luc Kraus. However, as I felt my ire begin to subside I slowly began to path out the different things I had heard this man do in a fit of rage. Some accounts told of a time where he buried one a big guy by the name of Dan under a few tons of dirt, others said of awful destruction in more ways than I could count. But the most concise reports that worried me the most were about his ability to control over fire.

Tales said that flames were controlled by the mage could become so hot that it could melt rock, metal, or anything that met his fancy and I figured that it wouldn't be that far of leap to make that if I jumped him while he was in the middle of channeling his power I'd probably be incinerated. So in lieu of those reasons, I decided it'd be best to stick to my guns and not reveal my identity quite yet. There were still many things I had up my sleeve, but at the moment my first priority was diffuse his anger somehow; a person with a temper was one thing, but one who also had control of the elements was a veritable powder keg that could go far beyond my reach of control.

Adjusting my cufflinks upon the pale, cream suit jacket I wore, I felt the words come to me as I stepped back into the role of Douglas Tombs. "Mister Kraus, I must warn you that should you harbor an attack on one who presides in an office of the Pagoda, whether it be fatal or not, you will be effectively removed and banned from returning to our facilities. So using me to vent your foul temper and defend your 'position' is moot."

Beginning to feel the wind begin pick up and howl in my ears as the ground began to rumble, I knew it'd be better to hook him now with Plan B rather than let him stew and come to his own conclusions, "Now, as I was saying, sir, your fight has been postponed. But, since we at the Pagoda are accustomed in dealing with the more.. ethically flexible.. type of people around here, it should please you to know that mister Jobe is being attended to by our top physicians and will be returning to the arena within the hour. I would hope on that note, it would cushion any sort of ill will we have between us, mister Kraus."

When I finished, I smiled softly at the mage and leveled my eyes with him in the sort of way I'd imagine a teacher doing when they are chastising a student. I suppose I laid it on a little thick with the sirs and the misters, but when I had met the real Douglas Tombs for the first time I could easily tell that the older man was the bueracratic, tight-ass type. Hopefully, some of the liberties I took wouldn't get me killed.