Angelico was not ready to
fight so soon after presiding over a match as a guest referee. He managed to
take as much damage as if he were a gladiator in the match. He was suffering
from burns on his chest and toes. After the match, Angelico met briefly with
the arena paramedics. They gave him some gel to rub on his wounds. Angelico
neither saw nor felt any difference with or without the gel. He was going into
the next match handicapped.
Worse than the pain, though, was the red puffiness of the wounds. What he called his uniform left almost nothing to speculation. People would notice the discolorations. Angelico found that the opinions of the crowds mattered just as much as, if not more than, how well one could fight. His primary concern was going into battle looking pristine.
It took all the concealing makeup he had to conceal the burns. He loved this color of concealment, Autumn Snow, as it was identical to his skin tone. However, on this moon, with new rules about his sun intake, his skin tone was bound to change, and he would need something new. He wondered what quality of makeup they sold.
Angelico, staying just across the street from the stadium, went early to greet his fans and sign autographs. He stood out front near the ticket line, to make sure everyone going would see him.
He was fond of answering any questions they threw his way and encouraged them to ask more. His favorites were if he was single, and what he was doing later, which many women asked him. He had learned the best response is to be vague but encouraging. Make them believe they could have him but commit to nothing. He also adored fans who wanted to follow in his footsteps and become a gladiator. He did not want to downplay his occupation and would say it was a lot of hard work and training, but to make sure no one was excluded, would emphasize that anyone could do it if they were willing to put in the time.
However, on this, his second official match on this moon, the line of questioning was different, more discouraging than usual.
"Do you think you'll be killed tonight?" asked a young boy, who wore a toga-like outfit with Angelico's name painted on it.
"What? Of course not, I'll triumph over anyone they throw at me."
"Even the Mad-Man?"
"Even the Mad-Man." Angelico rubbed the kid's head, as he had seen pro-athletes do in commercials back home.
A man approached, dressed to imitate Angelico, wearing fake wings and little else. However, he was far too out of shape to pull off such a costume. He asked for an autograph and "Do you spend all the money you have before a fight like this? You know, in case you don't get to enjoy it later?"
"Of course not," said Angelico, "I'll have plenty of time to spend it later on when I'm retired." He was on his high-horse now, giving them a lesson in money management. "It is important to save your money, for a rainy day, or bleaker times. You never know what the future will hold, and you must be prepared for anything. Live modestly today and you will be wealthy tomorrow." Of course, every credit Angelico earned went straight into cosmetics or repairing something that was damaged in a fight. However, it seemed like good advice.
A woman, who appeared to be a number of years older than Angelico, approached, took his arm and planted a kiss on his lips. Stunned, he said, "Uh, thank you."
"I've wanting to do that since you arrive," she said in an unfamiliar accent, "and I fear I would not have again chance to do so."
"Not to worry, I'm not leaving anytime soon. And I'll be at many of the parties later tonight..." A smile completed his sentence.
"I hope so," she said, ran a finger down his cheek, and moved aside for the next fan to greet him.
A young child, whose lower half was robotic like he was permanently attached to a wheelchair, asked, "Can I have your hair after your death?"
Angelico laughed, ran his fingers through his curly blond hair, took the child's autograph book to sign, and said, "I'm not going to die. I don't know why everyone is so grim tonight."
An adult who accompanied the child said, "You don't know who you're up against, do you?"
Angelico shrugged. "Dagfel 'The Mad-Man' Brunt? Doesn't seem so tough."
"He literally eats his opponents. He killed three of our most beloved gladiators last year. We're just concerned that..."
Angelico put a hand up to his mouth to silence him. "Not to worry. It is part of my mission, on behalf of the people of Dogma, to put a stop to such barbaric behavior. I fight for you, and if you don't like him, I don't like him. I will make sure he never harms another Dogmorian again." There was a round of applause, a couple people whistled, and for a brief moment, the questions about his inevitable demise ceased. A very brief moment.
Angelico continued to greet the people until his hand started to cramp from writing his name and a message over and over. He wondered if there was anyone on the moon who hadn't received an autograph yet. He would have stood out there for an eternity, though, if they kept coming up. He was relieved when a stadium worker, dressed in a bio-hazard suit, approached. "Mr. Angelico?"
"Yes," Angelico smiled.
"Please, come to the gladiator entrance, there are new inspection policies you must be subjected to."
"Of course." Angelico turned to the crowd, especially those whom he had not signed anything for. "I apologize, but it seems I must go into the arena. Please, do not think it is intentional. Everyone whom I have not yet had the pleasure to speak with may certainly find me after the fight."
"If you live," snickered several people out of unison. Angelico did not let it phase him. He turned around, flapped his wings once to impress the people, and started to head to the arena. He found himself face to face with a woman he had met earlier that day in a cafe. "Hello, Viv."
"Angelico, a pleasure to see you again. Loved the loss on account of a technicality in that last fight, I knew I could count on you."
"I tried."
"Tonight's match, what can you tell me?"
"I'm going to win by putting Brunt in the hospital for years to come."
"I love it when the mouse beats the cat. How did you get him to take a fall?"
"I didn't. I'm going to beat him the old-fashioned way, fairly."
As Angelico continued on to the arena, Vivarine shook her head, her hair staying perfectly behind her ears. "And I really wanted to bet on you."
In the room that normally would have been set aside for Angelico to prepare by himself, two men in bio-suits surveyed him closely. "Apologies, Mr. Angelico," said one. "Since Dr. Sergeon was found carrying an illegal strength virus, we have been ordered to closely inspect all gladiators. Don't want any more trouble."
"Completely understandable," said Angelico as various detectors were run over his body. "Search away, I've nothing to hide."
When each of them had covered his body more than once, the first one said, "You're clean, you may proceed to your starting door."
"Thank you." Angelico bowed and exited.
Worse than the pain, though, was the red puffiness of the wounds. What he called his uniform left almost nothing to speculation. People would notice the discolorations. Angelico found that the opinions of the crowds mattered just as much as, if not more than, how well one could fight. His primary concern was going into battle looking pristine.
It took all the concealing makeup he had to conceal the burns. He loved this color of concealment, Autumn Snow, as it was identical to his skin tone. However, on this moon, with new rules about his sun intake, his skin tone was bound to change, and he would need something new. He wondered what quality of makeup they sold.
Angelico, staying just across the street from the stadium, went early to greet his fans and sign autographs. He stood out front near the ticket line, to make sure everyone going would see him.
He was fond of answering any questions they threw his way and encouraged them to ask more. His favorites were if he was single, and what he was doing later, which many women asked him. He had learned the best response is to be vague but encouraging. Make them believe they could have him but commit to nothing. He also adored fans who wanted to follow in his footsteps and become a gladiator. He did not want to downplay his occupation and would say it was a lot of hard work and training, but to make sure no one was excluded, would emphasize that anyone could do it if they were willing to put in the time.
However, on this, his second official match on this moon, the line of questioning was different, more discouraging than usual.
"Do you think you'll be killed tonight?" asked a young boy, who wore a toga-like outfit with Angelico's name painted on it.
"What? Of course not, I'll triumph over anyone they throw at me."
"Even the Mad-Man?"
"Even the Mad-Man." Angelico rubbed the kid's head, as he had seen pro-athletes do in commercials back home.
A man approached, dressed to imitate Angelico, wearing fake wings and little else. However, he was far too out of shape to pull off such a costume. He asked for an autograph and "Do you spend all the money you have before a fight like this? You know, in case you don't get to enjoy it later?"
"Of course not," said Angelico, "I'll have plenty of time to spend it later on when I'm retired." He was on his high-horse now, giving them a lesson in money management. "It is important to save your money, for a rainy day, or bleaker times. You never know what the future will hold, and you must be prepared for anything. Live modestly today and you will be wealthy tomorrow." Of course, every credit Angelico earned went straight into cosmetics or repairing something that was damaged in a fight. However, it seemed like good advice.
A woman, who appeared to be a number of years older than Angelico, approached, took his arm and planted a kiss on his lips. Stunned, he said, "Uh, thank you."
"I've wanting to do that since you arrive," she said in an unfamiliar accent, "and I fear I would not have again chance to do so."
"Not to worry, I'm not leaving anytime soon. And I'll be at many of the parties later tonight..." A smile completed his sentence.
"I hope so," she said, ran a finger down his cheek, and moved aside for the next fan to greet him.
A young child, whose lower half was robotic like he was permanently attached to a wheelchair, asked, "Can I have your hair after your death?"
Angelico laughed, ran his fingers through his curly blond hair, took the child's autograph book to sign, and said, "I'm not going to die. I don't know why everyone is so grim tonight."
An adult who accompanied the child said, "You don't know who you're up against, do you?"
Angelico shrugged. "Dagfel 'The Mad-Man' Brunt? Doesn't seem so tough."
"He literally eats his opponents. He killed three of our most beloved gladiators last year. We're just concerned that..."
Angelico put a hand up to his mouth to silence him. "Not to worry. It is part of my mission, on behalf of the people of Dogma, to put a stop to such barbaric behavior. I fight for you, and if you don't like him, I don't like him. I will make sure he never harms another Dogmorian again." There was a round of applause, a couple people whistled, and for a brief moment, the questions about his inevitable demise ceased. A very brief moment.
Angelico continued to greet the people until his hand started to cramp from writing his name and a message over and over. He wondered if there was anyone on the moon who hadn't received an autograph yet. He would have stood out there for an eternity, though, if they kept coming up. He was relieved when a stadium worker, dressed in a bio-hazard suit, approached. "Mr. Angelico?"
"Yes," Angelico smiled.
"Please, come to the gladiator entrance, there are new inspection policies you must be subjected to."
"Of course." Angelico turned to the crowd, especially those whom he had not signed anything for. "I apologize, but it seems I must go into the arena. Please, do not think it is intentional. Everyone whom I have not yet had the pleasure to speak with may certainly find me after the fight."
"If you live," snickered several people out of unison. Angelico did not let it phase him. He turned around, flapped his wings once to impress the people, and started to head to the arena. He found himself face to face with a woman he had met earlier that day in a cafe. "Hello, Viv."
"Angelico, a pleasure to see you again. Loved the loss on account of a technicality in that last fight, I knew I could count on you."
"I tried."
"Tonight's match, what can you tell me?"
"I'm going to win by putting Brunt in the hospital for years to come."
"I love it when the mouse beats the cat. How did you get him to take a fall?"
"I didn't. I'm going to beat him the old-fashioned way, fairly."
As Angelico continued on to the arena, Vivarine shook her head, her hair staying perfectly behind her ears. "And I really wanted to bet on you."
In the room that normally would have been set aside for Angelico to prepare by himself, two men in bio-suits surveyed him closely. "Apologies, Mr. Angelico," said one. "Since Dr. Sergeon was found carrying an illegal strength virus, we have been ordered to closely inspect all gladiators. Don't want any more trouble."
"Completely understandable," said Angelico as various detectors were run over his body. "Search away, I've nothing to hide."
When each of them had covered his body more than once, the first one said, "You're clean, you may proceed to your starting door."
"Thank you." Angelico bowed and exited.
* * * * *
They had switched sides on him. Previously he had been by the announcer's table. Now he was angled so he could not see him. For a moment, he used his imagination to pretend he was really in the big leagues, complete with cheerleaders, experienced judges who dared not step into the arena, and professional gladiators that didn't have second jobs. It was a sweet delusion.
An invisible voice started to talk. Angelico perked up as he thought it was the announcer, but realized it was his new ally, Shadowed. Shadowed lived up to his name by using the darkness as a disguise. "How does this fight look?"
Angelico looked around, thinking he would be able to see Shadowed, but he couldn't. "Oh, you know, the standard good versus evil. Of course, as I'm the good guy, I'll win."
"You know who you're fighting?"
"Gladiator by the name of Brunt. Not a team player, hated by this moon. I know."
"He's...undisciplined. Strong as a Gun-Kipa. Quick to anger. It's rumored that if he hadn't assaulted an Ophidian Judge he'd be an Ophidian champion by now."
"I've fought championship-winning gladiators before." It was true, Angelico had recently fought one and lost badly. "Is it true Brunt eats his opponents?"
"He once bit a chunk out of an opponent's cheek. The story swelled since then."
Angelico's mouth overflowed with sarcasm. "Whew, I was afraid for a moment he was a sadistic cannibal. Glad it was just a one-time thing."
"Once an animal tastes blood..." Angelico was more frightened of Shadowed, and how well he hid than he was of his opponent and what Shadowed said about him. Shadowed went on, "If you need help, come by this door."
"I'll be fine." He paused, his mind turning to the fight again. Then he decided he might have been rude. "Thank you, though."
The announcer started in, and the crowd was starting up in excitement. "A local man who will not leave, standing six feet, four hundred and fifty pounds, Dagfel "The Mad-Man" Brunt. The booing was deafening. There was a few-minute lag until Brunt even entered. He looked like a boulder: large, round, and uneven. His eyes were dull. His hair, though shaved, managed to look unkempt. He did not wave to the audience or even look at them. He stood right by his entrance gate, slowly twisting back and forth as though he could not stop moving.
"A man we have welcomed into our homes as one of us, an angel who watches over the people of Dogma, standing five feet ten inches, one hundred and eighty pounds, Angelico!" Angelico strolled onto the arena floor smug and confident. He put one arm up and waved to the people on the other side of the glass barrier as he walked by. Then turned around, walking back, waving his other arm. He stopped, center to the crowd, extended both of his arms, then both of his wings, and then made a huge bow. The crowd was eating it up, and he could have gone on for the rest of the night, but they paid to see a fight, and he was going to deliver.
Angelico poised himself to fight, arms by his chest to block or hit, whichever was called for. He kept his legs moving and did not stay in one spot, so he would already be moving out of the way if an attack came at him. However, Brunt stood in one spot, like he was stuck into it. Angelico decided to taunt him. "If I was carrying that much weight, I wouldn't move, either." Brunt was not bothered by the remark.
Angelico had to liven up the fight. Nothing excited the crowd more than his flying. He jumped and flipped simultaneously, spun backward, heels overhead, and landed perfectly on his feet. There was a cheer from the crowd. Angelico was still not pleased, no one was being hit, and that was what made the fight exciting. Someone was going to take a hit, even if it were him. He jumped again, flapping twice. He arced back, but this time came down into a glide. He skimmed the ground, and at the last moment floated higher into the air. He landed a fist in Brunt's face. Brunt didn't so much as flinch.
Angelico stumbled a little on his landing but managed to stay on his feet. He positioned his fists to strike again. Brunt swung with his left hand, punching Angelico in the chest. Angelico stumbled backward, gripping his chest. For a moment he couldn't breathe, his ribs felt broken or at least bruised, but worst of all, his previous burn stung like a swarm of bees.
This was the real fight now, and show off all he wanted, he was going to need to find a strong attack to hurt this guy. Slowly Brunt walked towards him. Angelico stepped backward, turned, and then glided a short distance. He spotted his favorite weapon, a glaive, pointed at both ends, and glided towards that. Gripping it tightly with both hands, he now stood his ground while Brunt gradually approached. When he was within striking distance, Angelico jabbed at him, hitting him in the stomach.
Brunt took a step backward, but otherwise, there was no visible sign that he was hurt. He walked towards Angelico again. The self-proclaimed angel moved out of the way, running here and there, just trying not to be injured. His pride was telling him not to go to his starting door, not to ask Shadowed for help, but something else, perhaps his cowardice or desire to win, was driving him in that direction.
Angelico saw a rock close to where he had entered. It was half of his height, taller than it was wide. It sloped up, and he had this great vision of running up it, flipping in the air, and landing the final blow on Brunt. However, Brunt noticed it the same time he did. He moved over towards the rock. Angelico saw this as the perfect moment to go for it.
Brunt stood so close to the rock his stomach hung over part of it. Angelico threw his glaive at Brunt to move him back. Brunt let it bounce off of him like it was nothing. Angelico stepped onto the rock, but as he jumped, a hand gripped his ankle and pulled him back down. Angelico tripped on the rock. As he tried to regain balance, Brunt picked him up like a basketball and threw him quite a few feet. Angelico rolled in the dust, crawled to the nearest wall, and pulled himself up. He realized he was right next to the door he had entered through. Shadowed's bodiless voice said, "Turn around and point at him." Angelico, not in the mood for an argument, did as he was told. Shadowed threw a spiked disc at Brunt. No one was close enough to see it was not Angelico who threw it.
The disc passed through Brunt's left shoulder, spilling blood on both sides. He was still standing, but he was moved back when hit. Pulling all his strength together for that final blow he was imagining for so long now, Angelico ran at the rock, stepped on it twice, jumped, flapped his wings twice, somersaulted in the air, and started his descent. His wings were back to increase aerodynamics. His fists were clenched, as were his lips. His right knee was bent, almost to his stomach, and his left was fully extended. As he hoped, he landed the kick on the side of Brunt's neck, possibly the weakest part of the body. Brunt hit the ground with an echoing thump. A cloud of dust kicked up all around. This allowed Angelico to fall on his hands and knees, scrambling to his feet, and look like he had landed perfectly.
Brunt lay there, barely moving, barely breathing. Angelico poked him with his toe to see if he was going to stand up. If he were, he would've used that perfect moment to grab Angelico by the ankle again and knock him down. It appeared he was down for good.
Angelico went to greet his screaming fans. Every spectator in the place was on their feet, shouting his name, throwing their hands around, some even jumping. Angelico joined their enthusiasm, dancing, flapping his wings, smiling, pointing, and greeting them as best he could. Then, a solemn wave of silence spread through them like a rumor. All their eyes seemed to be looking in the same direction. Angelico did not have time to wonder what they were looking at when a resounding pain coursed through him.
For a moment, all of his senses were gone. The world around him –the arena, the people, everything- vanished. Only his thoughts existed, and they weren't too clear. He thought he was dead, passing into some nether realm, but reward or punishment, he could not tell.
His sight was the first to return. His vision of darkness turned into an intolerable brightness, then started to fade into something recognizable. He saw by the dust in his eyes, that he was lying on the ground. He craned his head up towards the crowd. The glass barrier that separated them was splattered in blood, presumably where his face had struck. He turned his head to the side. The rock he used as a stepping stool was out of place, just a couple of feet from him.
Next, his hearing returned. There was only one sound, that of something cracking. Angelico wondered if it were the ground below him, or his back, or his mind. He closed his eyes to focus on it. In his mind, he saw ice breaking. The scene changed into a cartoonish dam splitting up the center. Slowly water tinkled out of the crack, raining down around him. The dam burst open, rapids pouring in around him.
His sense of feeling was jostled back to life as the rapids lifted him. He opened his eyes. It was not water that flooded the arena, but people. The glass barrier that had been adorned with his blood was gone. On all sides of him, those that had been part of the audience moments before were part of the battle now. Half a dozen attended to him, lifting him up, carrying him off. The rest took care of other business.
Starting with his back and easing into the rest of his body, the sensation returned. Aches grew into pains that grew into throbbing. At last, it became too much for any person to bear. Angelico passed out.
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