An error in judgement

[Breaker]

O sole mio.

The evening streets of Radasanth smelled like change. A tangible shift occurred in the air as the tangerine sun bathed in the vast western ocean. It was more than just a shift in the autumn temperature. The omnipresent tension of the big city mutated when the streets cooled down. Less bustle and business, more dignity and danger. Doxies left the doorways to peddle their trade in the open, and all but the hardiest hawkers closed their stalls and headed home. The footpads and cutthroats got a chance to roam free, eyes peeled for prey with hands clenched around cold steel beneath patched cloaks. The filth of society mingled with darkness, and yet the night washed away the city’s imperfections. Cracked cobblestone looked smooth once more in the lull of lantern light. Dirt stains on brick buildings faded into shadow, an aesthetic swirl rather than a marring blemish. During the day, all I could smell was horse sweat and rotten vegetables. The night treated me to a taste of temporary peace.

I trudged through the neat grid of middleclass Radasanth, for once with a destination in mind. My lightweight khaki clothing swished to the metronome rhythm of my black boots. I yawned, stretching the stubble strewn skin of my chin. Not out of tiredness, but boredom. Everything stopped being amusing, after a time. I only made my movements audible because the novelty of watching people double-take when I stepped into their line of vision had worn off. There were times when I wished I could be a trickster, the kind of pervert who got off stealing and watching others suffer. No such damn luck.

Recent weeks had seen a rise in activity at the Dajas Pagoda, and yet I had fewer fights than ever. I blamed the Ai’Bron monks. They were letting challengers choose the hierarchs they fought. Apparently, no one wanted to fight the guy named Breaker who sent all his opponents away in body bags. I couldn’t blame the challengers for that; I wouldn’t want to fight me either.

It’s tough to complain about a steady paycheck you don’t have to work for, but the days dragged by and I had nothing to do. I travelled between Radasanth and Scara Brae often without any real reason. The ferry ride gave me a few hours on open water with a fresh salt breeze in my hair, and ate up my static income. I played at vigilante occasionally, but even my superhuman senses couldn’t find criminals to kick around every night. And beating up on cheap bad guys felt like hunting rabbits with a heat guided missile. No sport in it, and even when a tall dark stranger saved them from being raped or murdered, the people of Radasanth didn’t feign gratitude. The Citadel beckoned on occasion, but I had enough migraines induced by the monks at the Pagoda. Fighting felt too much like work, and those bald heads didn’t seem to hold wisdom or answers anymore.

So what could I do with my days and nights? I barely bothered sleeping anymore. Going to bed only promoted the inevitability of having to get up again. I searched my mind, eavesdropped on conversations, and scanned bulletin boards throughout the vast city. Before long, an idea came to me.

I joined a fitness club.

[Breaker]

The Gargantuan Gym rose above the other fitness centers for one reason. Despite its name it wasn’t necessarily bigger or better than any of the others Radasanth offered. However, the owner consented to give me a free membership with the understanding that I would drop the name of his club around the Pagoda. I amazed myself with my capacity to be well-off and miserly at the same time. In truth, I just liked getting free stuff.

The Gargantuan Gym lived up to its name in one respect. It covered two entire city blocks, a grand grey brick cube. Pigeons perched like low budget gargoyles, peering from the flat structure’s eaves. I stopped breathing a half block from the bombshelter-like building. Didn’t bother holding a breath in my lungs, I just stopped breathing. It was a neat parlor trick I picked up a few months prior. I could stop my heart for a few minutes too, but the smell outside of the gym threatened to do that permanently. The wealthier workout rats tethered horses next to the heavy oaken doors. A few single-horse carriages lined the street as well, drivers waiting in their seats, scented handkerchiefs tucked around their noses. Horses aren’t the most polite creatures. I couldn’t be bothered to carry a snuff box or any other kind of perfumed rag, so I settled for not breathing until I made it into the club.

The inside of the club smelled like perseverance. Stale sweat, new sweat, the ferrous tang of dumbbells and the tears of hard work. I breezed past the front desk, gave the reception kid a curt nod. I didn’t bother with the dressing rooms. If I wanted to change I would have to bring a change of clothes, and I preferred to travel light.

The first room I passed through was an indoor archery range. Buckets of arrows dotted a foot-high plywood barrier. Men and women stood with one foot on each side of the plywood, drew waxed string to cheeks and fired at targets fifty paces away. The targets looked like porcupines half the time, and acne plagued teens the other. Literally. They shot at wooden cutouts of people, not rainbow filled circles. One of the pockmarked silhouettes was missing most of the groin area. I wondered if Madison Freebird ever trained there.

I figured I might play around with archery equipment eventually, but the next room housed what I wanted. The smell of iron hung thick in the air there, radiating from the rows of weights. Dumbbells, barbells, kettle drums, and all manner of lifting equipment crowded half of the considerable chamber. Thin mats made up the floor of the far half, an empty space for calisthenics and plyometrics. Six men jogged in place in a tight group, chanting some marching song in a foreign language. A pair of fit young women rolled in the center of the area, shedding sweat like a sprinkler as they grappled for dominant positions. I grinned. The blonde on the top seemed to have the upper hand, but the brunette beneath her was looking for a rolling arm bar. I threaded my way through the power lifters, passed the grappling girls and stopped at the sand filled heavy bag in the corner of the room. The chain that suspended the bag clanked as I pushed it gently, feeling the bulk. Like shaking hands with an old friend, and hearing their voice.

I smiled as the blonde tapped the mat, her arm hyper extended.

My kind of place.

[Breaker]

Combinations formed in my mind and flowed out through my body. I started slow, just loosening up, but once my muscles warmed to the motion my tempo increased. I struck the bag from every angle; knee strikes, elbows, punches and kicks showered the tough canvas. I moved with speed and precision most people could only dream about, like an assault rifle set to burst fire. The heavy bag danced to the tune of my steady breathing. A jab, a hook, and a cross followed by a spinning side kick, but I never missed a beat. With each assault the bag yielded to my body, like a responsive lover. Beads of sweat invaded my eyes but I blinked them clear, savoring the sting. Who wanted a workout without pain?

I kept tabs on the rest of the room as I worked. The consistent clank of bars settling on pegs commingled with the clamor of conversation. Heavy breathing produced ripe sweat, my own odor joining the mélange. I could feel the grappling girls watching me on occasion, and cast my fair share of sideways glances at them. Nothing more than mutual appreciation for the martial arts and respect for each others’ skill. They ceased their competition drilled technique. I slowed my salvo, granting the bag some respite as I watched them from the corner of my eye. The blonde was on the bottom now, her long legs wrapped around the brunette’s neck and shoulder. An attempted triangle choke, but her legs were too loose. The brunette kept pressing forward and trying to stack her. I stopped battering the bag and held it still. The chain halted its cheery jangle as I called across the short distance.

“Pull down on your ankle and cinch it!” I raised my voice over the cacophony, directing my full attention towards the struggling blonde. I had a weird habit of pulling for the weaker fighter.

“What?” She panted breathlessly, flushed face turned towards me. The less skilled of the two perhaps, but she clung like a mussel.

“Grab your right ankle with your left hand, pull down, and cinch the triangle.” I made a motion in the air like pulling a train whistle, annunciating each word clearly. She got the message and executed the technique to perfection, compressing her opponent’s carotid. The brunette tapped the mat and the two sprawled away from each other, gasping for air. The blonde’s bangs fluttered into her azure eyes and she sat up irritably, controlling her breathing as she pulled a loop of fabric from her wrist and tied the tresses back. I smiled. I liked watching women with great hair play around with it.

“Thanks,” she called as they resumed their position on the mat. Diligent workers.
“Yeah, thanks.” The brunette joked. Laughing and out of breath, they renewed their wrestling.

They epitomized my appreciation of the Gargantuan Gym. People didn’t train there to look like some wax mannequin, they trained to improve themselves, to improve their abilities. They probably all had different reasons, whether they worked as soldiers, or prizefighters, or just wanted to learn self defense. But they all shared a strong work ethic and a drive to succeed.

Unfortunately, every gym has its assholes.

[Breaker]

The asshole stood three or four inches taller than me, and probably weighed ten pounds more despite my abnormally dense body. He carried heavy, hulking shoulders, almost cartoonish muscle mass. His arms were thicker than my legs, and I wasn’t a small guy. His scrunched face shone with a clean shave, beady brown eyes glaring at everything. When he spoke, his voice sounded too high, like maybe he was chemically imbalanced.

“Hey hack job,” he piped, referring to my bristly chin. His muscles made his shirt ripple like disturbed water. “You gonna’ use the bag, or just hold its hand?” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, a nervous tic.

I realized I had lost myself in watching the girls grapple, standing with one wide hand gripping the heavy bag. Tearing my eyes from a picturesque reversal made by the blonde, I bounced into slow Muay Thai footwork, swinging light, looping punches at the bag. I figured if I just ignored the asshole, he’d go away. Like a headache, or an insect. I figured wrong.

“Hey,” he said, shuffling closer on turned in knees, “I said are you--”
“I heard you.” I stated curtly, without removing my focus from the bag. I landed a short barrage of punches before he moved further into my peripheral vision, sticking his shaved head next to the bag. I exercised extreme self control in not hitting it.

“Then why didn’t you--” He stopped talking when I stopped moving. I met his gaze, my clear eyes judging his bloodshot ones.

“I assumed you could figure it out. Sorry, stupid of me. Yeah, I’m using it.” I resumed my work once more. Ignoring the bulbous brute at such close proximity tested my willpower, but I managed it. Uncertain if I had just insulted him, he turned and stalked a few paces away. He began shadowboxing in the open area, throwing massive haymakers and crazy kicks at invisible opponents. Every couple minutes he glanced at me, as if to ask; aren’t you done yet? Or perhaps to signify that he was imagining hitting me. His action wouldn’t have annoyed me, except that he kept cutting off the grappling girls. I hated to see the work of real martial artists infringed upon. With a heavy sigh I halted the bag, and turned to watch him.

“You’re doing that wrong,” I intoned, a hand scratching at my near-beard. “That too.” I nodded at his most recent kick, boredom evident in my voice. “And that. Who taught you to fight, or did you learn from watching monkeys?” His face went sunset red as he turned to face me.

“If you’re not using the bag...” he spoke in a menacing tone. I considered him, then considered the bag. It looked pretty old. Old enough that the owner probably had another one lying around ready to replace it. My leg lashed out like a viper, heel striking the canvas a shuddering blow. The bag split wide open, dumping sand onto the mats.

“All yours, tough guy.” I said, and I walked away.

[Breaker]

I left the asshole staring dumbfounded at the split bag and walked across the room. A speckled stone basin protruded from the wall in one corner, an iron hand pump completing the water fountain. I worked the handle and drank the water that arced from the spout. It tasted of metal, but went well with the smell of the room. Besides, it was cold, and it quenched my thirst. As I turned around the brunette member of the grappling team joined me. Her face flushed dark pink; I could feel the heat pouring off her in waves. With a gentlemanly half-bow I jacked the pump again, supplying a steady stream of water. When she had drank her fill she straightened up, wiping a few droplets from her lips and tucking rebellious hair behind her ear.

“Thanks,” she said with a shy smile. Strange that I was the new guy in the gym, but she acted shy. “I’m Joelle. Are you a member here? I’ve been around for a few months but I’ve never seen you before.” She implied fairly obviously that she would have remembered me. Not a difficult task, considering the Y-shaped scar beneath my eye. I returned the smile.

“Josh Cronen,” I said, shaking her hand gently. She had a strong grip. “Yeah, I just joined. Today’s my first time. Am I doing okay?” She rolled her eyes a little and stretched her right arm across firm breasts. I knew from experience that grappling turned limbs to putty. She knew her body well.

“You were doing pretty well until you spilled the sand,” she quirked an eyebrow marginally in what could have been silent disapproval, but her tone betrayed her. She sounded impressed. “I thought you were going to punch Dean in the head, though.” An irresisitble smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she switched arms in the stretch. I nodded wisely.

“I tried to, but I kept hitting that damn bag.” I deadpanned. She laughed musically, and I scored myself a point for charm. I rolled my shoulders and cracked my neck. Joelle put a steadying hand on the basin and lifted a leg, stretching her slim quadriceps. “So,” I asked, “do you kick your friend’s ass around the gym every day?” I half-expected another laugh, but she just shrugged, an odd gesture from her semi-bent position.

“I actually just met Allyson before you showed up,” she answered, “She’s a new member too, and she asked around for someone to roll with. And she’s better than me.” She said it so matter-of-factly that I believed her; Joelle had no schoolgirl inferiority complex and she wasn’t fishing for compliments. I deducted the charm point for being inobservant.

“Hell of a way to make friends,” I commented, because I had to say something. I actually thought it was a great way to make friends. You gain a lot of respect for a person when they catch you in a chokehold. And you learn a lot about them if you hyper extend their arm.

“I’m going to go for a run on the track, it's on the second floor.” She said, and jogged across the mats and through a doorway. I listened to the gym’s orchestra and watched her go, sweat-tightened clothing smooth on her slick body. Scored myself a point because she looked back and waved before her brown locks whipped around the corner.

[Breaker]

The steam in the sauna smelled like remuneration. It massaged my sore muscles, drawing sweat from my body like squeezing a sponge. I breathed slow and heavy, eyes hooded, body relaxed as a wet towel. The steam swirled around my exhale, dancing liquid angels catering to my needs. I could have fallen asleep easily on that hard pine bench, my head wedged against the log ceiling. A three hour workout will do that to anyone. I exercised nearly every day, but returning to the gym dynamic had helped me push myself to the limit. Something about being in the company of other athletes brought that out. I worked myself like a drill sergeant trying to break new recruits. A few of the more timid gym goers probably thought I was some sort of cyborg. I had done calisthenics and plyometrics, drilled technique, and lifted weights like a champion. Idly, I sprinkled cold water on the burning rocks, and the wave of warmth eased the aching memories. Sweat seeped from my pores like I had turned on a faucet.

A few minutes later I ducked out of the sauna and closed the door tight behind me. Everyone else had left for the night, but I kept good habits around gym etiquette. The foot-pump shower hosed me down with frigid water, like I had jumped through a hole in the ice. It revitalized me as sure as an electric current. As I dressed I felt like bugs were crawling all over my skin, dropping energy with every step they took. It was a good feeling.

I made my way through the empty stonewalled chambers, the taste of perspiration still thick in the air. I could never feel truly alone in a gym with a smell like that. It kept me company as sure as a…

I entered the archery chamber and realized I wasn’t alone, after all. The blonde grappler stood poised with a bow bent. The new girl. Allyson. I had never noticed before, but when a woman in a tight shirt draws a bowstring, she gives away a stunning show. An instant later she loosed, and a different kind of show started. Her arrow hit the target dead in the centre of its head. I gave a low whistle of appreciation.

“Remind me never to cross paths with you in a dark alley,” I said in a complimentary tone. I plucked a bow from the wall and stepped one foot over the plywood barrier. I stood in a southpaw stance, so I could face her while I knocked an arrow. She smiled at me as her slim hands expertly drew a second arrow to her cheek.

“Lucky shot,” She remarked. Her second arrow nearly split the first. “Oh!” She placed a hand over her mouth in mock shock then winked at me. “Lucky again.” She still had her thick blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, allowing me to see her lapis eyes that sparkled like blue devils. I bent my bow to the maximum and sighted along the arrow, trying to mimic her posture. Not easy, since I was put together like a golem compared to her near-elven build. I aimed for the central mass of the wooden target’s body, like I would have with a firearm, and loosed. I got lucky. The arrow nicked the corner off the target’s elbow.

“Not bad,” Allyson said, giving me a slow golf clap, the bow cradled in the crook of her arm. She stood with her weight on one leg, hip jutted out, scrutinizing me. Strands of yellow tickled her still-flushed face.

“Go easy on me,” I replied, stringing a second shaft. “It’s my first time.”

[Breaker]

Allyson gave me pointers as I continued to aim arrows at the wooden cutouts. I took mental note of each piece of advice she handed me, filing them away in a steel trap memory. “Keep the elbow up, first finger on the arrow shaft, grip the nock between three fingers…” Under her guidance, I managed to put three of my next ten arrows in the target’s chest. They quivered like tiny trees in an earthquake, broadpoint heads buried in the wood. I walked the distance to the target, grasped the coarse wood of the arrows and tugged them free. I managed to not flinch when an arrow thumped into a target not two yards from me.

“What are you doing that for?” Allyson called, “There’s plenty of arrows back here.” She laid another shaft to string and I hastened to get back to the plywood barrier.

“Well, these three are obviously the only straight ones.” I joked, blaming my shoddy aim on the equipment. Allyson smiled and sighted, blew her bangs out of her eyes with a quick exhale, and then loosed. The arrow quivered in her target’s throat. I shook my head, and set about firing my favorite three arrows again. Every time the steel heads punched a hole in the wooden targets, it gave a satisfying thock that echoed in the empty chamber. Allyson’s target bristled with so many shafts it looked like a hedgehog, a fact that threatened to discourage me. With a solid effort I managed to draw another triangle on my target’s chest.

“Huh, maybe those arrows really are better than the rest. Either way, retrieving them gives me a chance to stop embarrassing myself.”

I paced towards the targets, blinking rapidly. As much as I enjoyed Allyson’s company and learning a new skill, fatigue weighed on me. For the first time in weeks I truly felt the need to go back to my inn and just fall into bed. I plucked the arrows from the target and stood facing it as I yawned, stretching my arms high overhead, vertebrae cracking up and down my spine. As I exhaled heavily, I closed my eyes for a moment, dreaming of a downy matress.

My eyes snapped open, pupils dilating as they noticed a change. It took me a moment to understand what I saw.

Glistening red stains trailed down the target.

My blood, spatter painted across the silhouette.

The bow and arrows in my hands clattered to the floor as I saw the broadpoint poking through my right pectoral. I had barely felt the miniscule punch as the shaft struck my back, but now blood spewed from the wound. I tried to take a step and staggered. My legs wouldn't work right. I fell, instinct alone putting me on my uninjured side. With both hands I applied pressure to the exit wound, but my fingers made a lousy dam. Blood flowed between them like spilled wine.

There was an arrow through my chest. The realization stunned me as much as the blood loss. A foreign weapon threatened to end my life.

I had never been shot before. Not by a bullet, a crossbow bolt, or anything else. Against the screaming pain I continued to push on the wound, like sticking a knife in myself. I heard Allyson’s footsteps, strangely distant, running towards me. Her voice permeated the fog that filled my head, but I couldn’t quite make out the words. Something about how the arrow had slipped, how sorry she was. She sounded concerned.

“I’m glad someone is.”

[Breaker]

Allyson knelt at my side and leaned over me, her yellow hair splayed across my face. It stung my eyes and tasted of sweat as she tucked her slim body beneath my left shoulder, trying to lift me. My vision flickered, then sharpened. I could see her mouth moving, but she resembled a silent film; a melodramatic facial expression, and no words came out. She slapped me, and suddenly my ears worked again.

"Shit," she said, panic threatening to consume her tone. "Shit shit shit shit... why are you bleeding so much?" The question sounded incredibly forlorn in the colossal stone chamber. She pressed a hand over the wound, assisting my attempts to hold my life in. I worked my mouth, but my tongue felt like a lead weight, and hyperventilation made it hard to get any words out.

"Grazed... artery." I managed through shaky breathing. Another chorus of curses flowed from her mouth as she set her back and legs to the task of standing me up.

“Christ you’re heavy,” she grunted, “Come on, we need to get you to a healer.” The line sounded oddly rehearsed, and I wondered idly if it was her first archery mishap. My legs turned to rubber as I bunched them beneath me. With Allyson’s help, I managed to stand up, leaning heavily on her. She half-dragged me across the unforgiving floor, past the vacant reception desk, and into the cool night air. I barely noticed the stench of horse dung. My brain and body seemed to function on two different levels. I could feel my muscles seizing up, and my breath still came in short, fishlike gasps, but my mind was somewhere else.

"I'm so sorry," she sounded like a broken record, "I'm so sorry, it slipped, I'm so sorry..."

The situation just didn’t seem real. I berated myself as Allyson dumped me into a waiting coach, the last one left on the lonely street. I had spent too much time training at the Citadel and Dajas Pagoda. My threshold for real danger had dropped. Now I found myself in a deadly situation that couldn’t be cured instantly by a monk’s magic, and I couldn’t respond. So stupid… I was so godamn stupid.

Words passed between Allyson and the carriage’s driver, and then she was in the coach with me, closing the barrel-hinged door and cooing comforting words. A whip cracked and eight hooves clopped along the cobblestones. She had two horses. Good. We would get there faster, that way.

Allyson sat on the carriage’s thin bench, holding my head against her knee as I sat crumpled at her feet. The arrow through my chest magnified each bump in the street. Every time the carriage lurched I received a painful jolt, along with the painful reminder that I was rapidly bleeding out.

Chin on my chest, the protruding arrowhead became my world. Something peculiar about it, but my mind moved like molasses. I waded through the bog my brain had become. I needed to remember something about the archery range, something about the gym. The ferrous, gory smell of my seeping life soon filled the coach. “That’s it… iron. Everything at the gym was made from iron.” But the broadpoint inches below my eyes gleamed like a ghost in the darkness.

“Mythril… she shot me on purpose.”

[Breaker]

The epiphany acted like a defibrillator for my mind. Thoughts came, realizations and plans, in a torrent of sudden clarity. This woman was not taking me to a healer, but some other location. Whatever our destination was, the shaft through my chest made a very clear point: I didn’t want to go there.

I needed to stop the carriage. I could have smashed a foot through the floorboards and knocked a wheel askew, but didn’t like my chances of surviving the inevitable crash. The horrid jolting of the carriage marred my thinking process. Forming a simple plan felt like hacking my way through a jungle with a feather for a machete. “Focus on what you know,” I commanded myself, my thoughts like a sluggish record. Allyson hadn’t meant to kill me, or even mortally wound me. Just an injury to get me into her carriage, something to distract me from the abduction attempt. So she needed me alive. The coach jumped a pothole and my head lolled limply onto her thigh. Two slim fingers pressed against my carotid, checking for a pulse. And suddenly, I knew what to do.

As she felt the beat of my heart through the vein in my neck, it began to slow. I breathed low and regular, willing myself to let my body go limp. My muscles wanted to contract, to curl me into a fetal position like a child trapped in the womb. But I forced them to relax, focusing on the pain. I welcomed it into my body, allowed it to become a part of me, and slowly my lungs stopped working. My pulse grew fainter, I could feel the artery pushing with less and less force against Allyson’s vigilant fingers. My eyes rolled backwards and my head bumped forcibly onto the seat, unconscious for all the world could tell. A hand smacked my face, the whirring of wooden wheels drowning out the sound. I felt my kidnapper’s nerves turn to ice when she realized my heart had stopped beating. Heard her pound three times on the carriage wall, in a pattern, like a signal. Thump thump… thump. The carriage slowed and the noise from the wheels lessened.

The barrel hinges of the door swung open almost soundlessly. I felt a foreign pair of hands grasp me beneath the armpits, and Allyson’s familiar slim ones hooked my knees. Panting like a couple of overworked mules they carried my dense form from the carriage. I wanted to breathe, to inhale the clean night air, but I had to remain inert with the stench of death stuck in my nostrils. A new pain gripped me as they set me on a bed of grass and leaves. I had to let my heart beat; I could feel my consciousness slipping away for real. With a wave of relief I allowed myself a slight palpitation, accompanied by the shallowest breath. Surprise almost caused my eyes to open, but I corralled them to stillness. The woody, earthly smell of the forest filled my lungs. The driver must have taken the fastest route out of Radasanth to get to the wilderness in such a short time. Where were they taking me? Questions for another time. As I lay limp, playing possum, two pairs of hands rolled me onto my side. Dead twigs dug into my arm and snapped beneath the weight as their voices filled the emptiness.

“Is he alive?” The driver asked with a quaver in his voice. He was in it as deep as Allyson.
“Barely,” she replied, checking my vitals again. “Shit, I’ve got to get the arrow out of him.”

[Breaker]

The driver's hand shook as he gripped the arrowhead.

"Why is he bleeding so damn much?" He demanded, bracing my shoulder with his other hand. "You were just supposed to wound him." The man's nervous tremors made my task of remaining inert twice as difficult. I tried to imagine myself back in the sauna, relaxed and comfortable, without an arrow through my chest.

"I aimed for his shoulder. He moved at the last second." Allyson snapped, "Hold him steady!" She had torn my shirt away, and wrapped strips of it around the shaft of the arrow. The driver took a few steadying breaths and his hands stilled slightly.

"Have you ever done this before?" He asked, and the tremor had invaded his voice.
“No,” she replied, and I almost winced. “But I know the basics…”

I didn’t have a chance to brace myself. She snapped the arrowhead off and drew the shaft out in one smooth motion. It was like being shot all over again, only this time I felt it fully. Every grain of the coarse arrow scraped like a steel sliver against muscles that contracted, trying to hold it in place. I shuddered involuntarily, but they either didn’t notice or figured it was something an unconscious man would do.

“Pass me that,” Allyson said, and a moment later I felt a wide strip of gauze wrapping around and around the injury. Cautiously, I allowed myself a stronger heart beat, and a little more breathing room. My lungs expanded gratefully, drinking in the smell of the forest. The slowed pulse had helped my blood clot, and I could feel adrenaline running strong in my veins. My body knew I had to do something to avoid getting back in that carriage.

With every passing moment I felt better, more alive, and more powerful. My muscles energized like a machine recharging. I tried to picture the area without opening my eyes. The smell of bark coupled with the sticks poking uncomfortably into my side meant there were trees. I recalled the zigzag pattern the two kidnappers had followed when they carried me out of the coach. With any luck, that meant the road wasn’t readily visible from my location. I bided my time, and an opportunity arose.

“Take the med-kit back to the carriage,” Allyson commanded with authority in her tone. “I’ll make sure he’s stable enough to move. Get back here quickly though, we’re already late as it is.” The driver grunted in response and his heavy footsteps trudged away. I waited until the buzz of insects and the song of night birds covered the crackle of his boots. Allyson had a hand on my neck, two fingers performing the ritualistic pulse check.

My eyes jumped open, and I moved like lightning.

One hand pinned Allyson’s wrist to my chest, the other snatched the back of her neck and pulled her head downwards. My left leg rose and snaked over her shoulder, my uncanny flexibility allowing a go-go plata choke. She didn’t even have time to gasp before my shin pressed against her windpipe. I released her wrist and clasped both hands behind her neck, applying vicelike pressure with the sharp bone of my shin on her trachea. Her eyes bulged and her body convulsed, blonde hair in disarray as she passed into unconsciousness.

"Go to sleep," I whispered as clouds covered her sky colored eyes. "We'll talk later."

[Breaker]

Standing up proved more difficult than choking Allyson out. It was an excruciating process, but I managed to get all four limbs beneath me and push myself upright. The bandaged chest wound burned like acid, causing my knees to shake as I staggered to an oak and leaned on the rough bark for support. I strived to control my breathing, forcing myself to inhale long and slow rather than succumb to the hyperventilation that seemed to natural. My body was trying to go into shock, but I couldn’t let it.

I still had to deal with the driver.

The temporary lull of my heartbeat had helped my blood clot enough to keep me from bleeding out. Taking that as a positive sign, I lurched through the dense forest, spotting the route to the carriage easily enough. A plethora of disturbed plant life pointed to the trail the kidnappers had blazed to get me into the forest. No more than ten yards from Allyson’s unconscious form, I had to stop and rest. Back pressed against a broad tree trunk, I drew long, ragged breathes, and the air felt like broken glass in my lungs. Against a lashing desire to collapse I silenced myself, hearing the driver return. He crashed through the underbrush like a wild boar, heedless of the danger that waited. I listened until he was almost upon me then stepped out and threw a crushing left at his jaw.

Or rather, where his jaw should have been. I hadn’t gotten a good look at the driver until then, and he stood shorter than I assumed. The punch barely grazed the top of his skull, and he leapt backwards, surprise turning to rage as he drew a long curved dagger from his belt. He shook his head a little, as if to show me I hadn’t hurt him, and then darted towards me.

I was at a disadvantage, unarmed and with only one hand to defend myself. My right palm stayed firmly against my chest as I sidestepped the short, stocky man’s charge and kicked him in the knee as he rushed by. His howl of pain should have brought every wolf in the woods running. His curved blade glittered in the night as he came at me again, slashing for my face. I blocked his attack with my forearm, my hardened muscle easily stopping the steel blade. The impact sent a painful jolt down my arm, across my chest and through the arrow wound. With a gasp of pain I gripped the driver’s wrist and yanked him forwards, snapping my arm quickly inwards, my elbow connecting with his temple. He staggered crazily like a wealthy drunk and I bulled forwards, using my weight to slam him into a tree. His skull cracked the unyielding trunk with the sickening sound of breaking eggshells. I knew he was dead from the ragdoll manner in which he slumped to the ground.

A strange flush brightened my face, and I suddenly found myself on the ground next to him. A gentle breeze kicked up as I lay, panting and clutching at my chest, waiting for the strength to get up again.

I was patient, for a man in so much pain. I knew my body wouldn't let me down. And when I could move again, I knew what I had to do.

[Breaker]

The nighttime wilderness smelled like the past. Everywhere fallen foliage rotted and new life sprang forth from old. Allyson slumped against a thin cyper, her arms fastened behind her back with bandages from her own med-kit. I had found the carriage, hidden just off the road, and removed the kit before returning to my prisoner.

My face showed as much emotion as the rock I perched on as I sat facing the unconscious blonde. The pain from the arrow wound had long since faded beneath the ministrations of an emergency morphine syringe I found in her med-kit. The presence of the drug confirmed the suspicion that had been blossoming in my mind. Allyson was from Earth.

Looking back, I should have realized it earlier. Back at the gym, when her arrow struck a vital area, Allyson had dropped character and sworn several times… words like shit and Christ that no Althanian would use. Sloppy work for a professional trained by Intelligence America.

Intelligence America. The name slithered through my mind in a serpentine question mark, and enigma with an underlying sense of evil. It seemed like years before that an experimental, unstable portal deposited me on the magical planet Althanas. It had taken me months to adjust to the idea that I would never see Earth again, never again flip a switch on the wall and have the room filled with fluorescent light. I learned to live in the medieval world, and had made peace with my past, until one day I was taken prisoner by a semi-military unit form Intelligence America. They had found a way to stabilize the portal, and sent a wave of shock troops to feel out the resources of Althanas, to find out what parts of the foreign world were ripest for the plucking. They also intended to turn me into a living weapon, but I had escaped into the flooded streets of Radasanth one rainy night, and never heard from them again. I had searched, certainly, for weeks, but Intelligence America had vanished as if they had always been a figment of my imagination. Now it seemed they had found me again, and wanted to pick up where they left off.

Allyson groaned and shifted minutely. I focused on her, my hazel eyes willing her to wake up. A firm hand plucked the prevaldia bayonet from its hidden sheath in my boot. I ran the razor sharp edge along the palm of my hand, and then sheared a few bristles from my cheek, easy as scything grass. I knew many ways to make a human feel pain, with my hands or with a knife. The morphine may have masked the arrow wound, but the feeling of helplessness Allyson had forced upon me was still strong in my mind. I had assumed enough to begin a proper interrogation. My knowledge of her origins would help me to break her, to ensure that she answered my following, more important questions, with eager honesty.

Her blue eyes flickered open, still hazy like a fog over the ocean. Thoughts of sleep or rest ceased to exist; for me, and therefore for her, there would be no rest until I had my answers. I could push myself harder and farther than any other man, and I would push her until she broke and spilled knowledge like milk from a clay jug. I moved closer until I crouched with my nose an inch from hers.

"You'll have to forgive me if I'm a little rusty," I told her, my voice as keen as the bayonet's edge and as penetrating as its point. I placed the point on her collar bone and applied the gentlest pressure. "I haven't done this in a long time."

Her eyes sharpened in a silent scream while my free hand muffled her mouth. The fog lifted from those azure angels faster than the sun's strongest rays could have melted it. I inhaled long and slow, my flint eyes steady, staring at hers that flashed and hopped like birds in the morning. We still had long hours to pass before the dawn's youngest light would spy upon us. Until then, we kept company with the creatures of the night.

She smelled like the solution to a riddle that had nagged the corners of my mind for far too long. I knew how to solve a riddle; you take what you're given, turn it upside down, and poke it, and prod it, and twist it until it tells you what you need to know.

I applied a little more pressure, and she squirmed like a speared trout. My palm stayed tight over her mouth. The first few minutes would be just to show her I wasn't fooling around. When I freed her lips, words would flow from them like wine at a wedding. And if she didn't say what I wanted to hear, we would start from the beginning.

To be continued...

Quanno fa notte.

[Logan]

STORY


Continuity (9/10) ~ The intro was near perfect as it tied this whole scene into the plotlines of Josh’s current situations all while the overarching Joshua storyline was tied in towards the end. I have to say, that was pretty damn impressive.

Setting (9/10) ~ So ok, the gym setting was absolute genius, especially given the fantasy archetype used for Althanas. You tied it in well, and as such, you gained my respect. Bravo

Pacing (7/10) ~ Everything flowed well. I wanted more to the story though, and I don’t mean a conclusion. I wanted more in depth while he was performing his workout, which you hinted at in the sauna scene, but I do understand why you wrote it as you did. Still, next time, because of the way in which you write, please go deeper and give more of Josh’s day, lol.


CHARACTER



Dialogue (7/10) ~ Reasonable use of body language with the girl’s hair and Joshua’s solid kick to the bag to split it, but there could’ve been more of this involved. As such I didn’t dock you too hard, but I would’ve like more interaction with the various NPCs.


Action (7/10) ~ I know Joshua is lethal, and as such the poor little midget of a man was doomed to die a quick death, but something just a little bit more would’ve gone a long way. In the same token, you set up for something between Dean and Josh and really nothing came of it. Kinda killed me when I got to the end.


Persona (9/10) ~ You know Joshua and you know how to write with him. Few people on Althanas can match what you do with him. You are always right on point with him and what he does, so much so that I start to wonder if you really aren’t just Joshua writing yourself for fun. Lol.

WRITING STYLE


Mechanics (8/10) ~ There were a few minor mistakes in your mechanics, be it a comma misused or a word misused, but overall it never really detracted from the overall story. If you have a proofreader, you could get this to a perfect score every time.


Technique (9/10) ~ Haha. There are few on Althanas who can match your expert use of English and the various literary devices. From metaphors and similes down to the nicest hints of foreshadowing you place it all eloquently and expertly. I am impressed at how everything seems to flow effortlessly and unforced. I love it! And the Madison Freebird reference? GENIUS!

Clarity (8/10) ~ There was a couple of points where I was a bit frustrated. Not necessarily for lack of following things, but because I did become confused. One was in the carriage and the other in the forest just before the little man attacked. They weren’t hugely visible or anything, but they caught my attention enough that I grumbled inwardly to myself at how I wanted to shoot you.



Wild Card (6/10) ~ Damn you. You can’t be perfect in everything, but you always come damn close! DAMN YOU DAMN YOU DAMN YOU! :-) I want more spark, though. I was intrigued by this, but it’s lack of closure kind of upsets me a little. As such…I hate you.


Total Score: 79


Rewards:

Joshua gains 3750 EXP and 0 Gold.


Mod Spoils:
Joshua finds the arrow next to Allyson before the interrogation and although the arrow itself is unusable, the Mythril arrowhead is his to keep. Cannot be sold or traded. Must be kept.

[Zook Murnig]

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