Malcolm skidded to a halt, barely avoiding a collision. "Hey! Tumial! Didn't see you there."
Tumial's spoke, his dark brown eyes still wide with disbelief. "Figured you'd be gone longer. Not that I'm complaining. Especially not now."
Malcolm's curiosity piqued, a flicker of unease mixed with anticipation. "How's it been? Things okay at the theerat?"
The hybrid's smile wavered, the urgency in his eyes growing. "You might want to brace yourself. It's a mess, a damn mess. Sifferal's gone missing. Well not really missing, but he’s gone."
Malcolm's mind whirled, digesting the sudden change. He motioned for Tumial to walk with him, the bustling city a blur as they moved. "How long?"
"Nine days now," Tumial replied, his voice tinged with frustration. "Like he just up and vanished. Left a note that he had to go retrain, something he’s required to do at least once every three years."
"But he’s only been gone nine days. What's going on over there now? It was running so smoothly when I left," Malcolm said, a hint of disbelief edging his voice.
Tumial sighed, his rugged, oversized, features creasing with worry. "Joroush is what's going on. He's running the place now, if you can call it that."
"Joroush?" Malcolm echoed, unfamiliar with the name.
"A new recruit," Tumial explained. "Wasn't here long before he started throwing his weight around. Won the challenges and took control when Sifferal disappeared."
Malcolm's brow furrowed as he absorbed the information. "Sifferal left, not disappeared, big difference. What's this Joroush like?"
Tumial's face turned grim, and his pace slowed as they got closer to their destination. "He’s taken over, seizing control by force. His gang has been tormenting everyone, like vultures preying on a carcass. Kicking out all opposition." Malcolm's jaw clenched with rising anger. "That bastard. What do they want?" "Power," Tumial hissed, his fists tightening at his sides. "Joroush thrives on fear; he has a twisted desire for domination." They neared the theerat, Malcolm stopped in surprise. Its once lively exterior now bore the marks of conflict—shattered windows and defiant graffiti. "What's our plan?" Tumial paused, "I can gather some neighbors and former allies for a fair challenge against Joroush. We can't let them cheat again."
"What about the rest of the members that didn’t get kicked out?" Malcolm asked.
"Fewer showing up every day," Tumial replied, glancing nervously back toward the direction of the theerat. "A few joined Joroush’s gang, probably more out of self-preservation than anything else. Even those ones don’t stop by much." He hesitated, then added, "With Sifferal missing, some of us hoped you'd come back. You know with you being a Creator and the new star pupil."
Malcolm gave a quick nod, processing the situation. "So, Joroush is the new boss, and he’s letting everyone know it? Wait a minute, you said cheat again?"
“He took over with Challenge, there were a couple of bouts his gang interfered with, but those of us left were too weak and unorganized to stand up to it.” Tumial paused, worry flickering in his eyes. "You know, some of us wondered if Sifferal is okay. We’re wondering where he went and if he’ll be back—though most of those still loyal to him expect him back, but those numbers are dwindling daily. Joroush says he’s free to come back and take him on in Challenge. Doesn’t seem right to me."
"Keep an eye out," Malcolm said. "If you hear anything, let me know. I’m guessing you’re not welcome there anymore."
Tumial shifted, glancing over his shoulder again. "I’m not banned, but not welcomed with open arms. You need to watch yourself with them, Malcolm. They're dangerous."
"Maybe," Malcolm replied, his voice laced with a hint of dry amusement, "but so am I." He turned, his thoughts racing as he continued to the theerat’s front door. “Let me assess the situation.”
The encounter with Tumial played through his mind for the few steps he had left, and Malcolm struggled to make sense of this new twist. The notion of Sifferal gone for nine days gnawed at him. How long is his training?
The familiar odor of the theerat made it’s way to Malcolm, but it wasn’t quite the same. The front glass window was broken, the door looked to have been smashed in and only hanging by the top hinge. The theerat had always been busy with a mix of former members and the neighbors in the vicinity, most of them were once in the theerat or friends of those who were. It had been a part of their zone’s neighborhood, but now the place looked like a dump.
Malcolm stood outside, remembering the way it used to be. The drills Sifferal put them through. The way the neighbors got along with the core group. Tumial's words about Joroush rang in his ears as he prepared himself for the confrontation. He wondered if Joroush had been waiting for his chance, it all seemed so sudden.
This is on me. He took a breath, composed himself, and walked through the broken door.
The change hit Malcolm like a physical force. Gone was the sense of camaraderie and energy. In its place was an oppressive atmosphere, like a damp cloth that choked the life out of everything it touched. The few members moved sullenly, their movements devoid of the spark he remembered. Why are they still here? Equipment lay scattered in disarray, some of it clearly unused in days.
A lanky young man spotted Malcolm and hurried over, his eyes darting nervously. “Hey,” he said, his voice a hushed whisper. “You’re back.”
“I am,” Malcolm replied, taking in the changes around him. “Things have really gone to hell, haven’t they?”
“Worse,” the young man said, glancing around to make sure no one was listening. “Since Joroush took over, it’s been…different. Bad different. He's like, half orc or something. As big as three of us and thinks he's twice as smart. I mean his almost as big as Tumial. It’s not like it was around here with Sifferal.”
“I’m starting to get the picture.”
The young man hesitated, then lowered his voice even further. “Some of us thought maybe Sifferal would come back soon. Good to see you, though.”
Malcolm raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“Fix it. A few of us are sticking it out so Sifferal has something to come back to, but it’s getting harder and harder to stay.” The words came out in a rush, almost desperate.
Malcolm let out a low chuckle, devoid of humor. “Guess I’d better try.” He watched the young man slink away before continuing to survey the space.
Malcolm paused to collect his thoughts. The events of the past few weeks begin to merge with the theerat problems.
Before the doubts could spiral further, another voice reached him.
"The Rule of Challenge says he won it fair and square," a voice said nearby, as if the conversation had been going for some time.
Malcolm turned, taking in the unwashed goblin looking being who had just spoke. “If you keep saying that, you might just believe it.”
The green mound of muscles stared at Malcolm, “You mights want to keep your mouth closed.” He turned to a smaller man, “Any idea who the new idiot is?”
The other nodded. “Malcolm Steele. He’s a member that ain’t been here in awhile.”
“Heard there was a hostile takeover,” Malcolm replied. “Figured I’d pay a visit.”
It was more of an accusation than a question.
“What we heard was Sifferal ran and was afraid to challenge him.” The goblin like creature said.
"Good to know. So this Rule of Challenge,” Malcolm asked, keeping the light tone in his voice. “That's how he’s running it?”
“Yeah,” another former member confirmed, emboldened by Malcolm’s lack of concern. “Thinks he's untouchable. Maybe he is. Keeps challenging anyone he wants to get rid of. Won’t let up until he beats them.”
“So most everyone’s gone, huh?” Malcolm said, then looked at the small crowd he’d gathered. "What about the neighbors? No one's left to be neighborly to?"
“Avoiding the place now. Joroush, made enemies of most of them.”
“Good,” Malcolm said, clapping his hands together. “Joroush, I’ll start there.”
Malcolm felt the weight of what this meant to him. Not just the theerat, but everything about his life in the EverNever. As a Creator, as a part of this Structure. If he was supposed to be a boss around here, why did everything seem so out of control? His head felt like it was about to explode, but for once he didn’t care. The mess with Valgrin, Fred, the Black Dove, Tahlur, all of it. He couldn’t lose himself like that. Not again.
Time to get back to basics, back to what you’re good at.
He cracked his knuckles and let out a long sigh. Time to start being dangerous again.
Malcolm let his hands relax at his sides, feeling the tension dissolve as he turned back to the crowd. "So," he said, a hint of mischief in his voice, "do you think Joroush is ready for me?” He then pushed past the filthy goblin and into the training room of the gym.
"Well, well," Joroush’s voice sliced through the room like a serrated blade, laced with mockery. "Looks like we’ve got company." He barreled across the space with thunderous steps, a massive wall of muscle and arrogance. Malcolm turned slowly to face him, taking in the sheer physicality of the man, the orc-like heft of him, the calculated cruelty etched into his features. The presence was raw and overpowering.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
"I thought you ran away with the rest of them," Joroush sneered, his eyes glinting with contempt.
Malcolm held his gaze, unflinching. "You'll wish," he said with a smirk. “It’s flattering that you know of me even though we haven’t met.”
"Been told stories.” Joroush growled through clenched teeth. “Enough stories to know you need to be taken down.”
More of the new gang appeared, drawn by the confrontation, and soon Malcolm was facing a crowd. Joroush towered over them, arms crossed like a challenge all his own. The newer members eyed Malcolm suspiciously, as if trying to gauge whether he was a real threat or a ghost of the theerat's past.
“Looks like you've picked up a crew,” Joroush taunted. "Is this all you have?" He made a sweeping gesture at the ragged band of members who had gathered around Malcolm. "Can’t say I'm impressed."
Malcolm shrugged, unfazed by the show of force. "Gotta start somewhere, right?" He let his voice carry, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Figure there’s always room to improve."
Joroush scowled, then signaled to his gang. Some of them began to circle, others made tentative offers to fight, their eyes flicking from Malcolm to the people at his side.
"One on one," a tall man called, attempting a menacing pose that faltered when he noticed the confidence on the other side.
"Like you’d do anything," Malcolm replied, grinning at the man. The tall man hesitated, looked to Joroush, then stepped back. "I see you’re training them in how to back down, too. Good skill to have."
Joroush shot a look at the man, who winced and fell silent. He turned back to Malcolm, his bravado thinly masking a note of uncertainty. “You think you can just walk in here? Like it was before?”
“Don’t know what I’d call this, but I wouldn’t say ‘like before’.” Malcolm replied, glancing around at the state of things. “Or did I just have this place pegged all wrong?"
Joroush’s mouth curled into a sneer, but there was an edge of something else in his eyes. Concern, maybe even fear. “You want it? Challenge me.”
Malcolm paused, drawing out the moment, watching how Joroush handled the growing tension. “Haven’t seen this kind of dump in a while. A good cleanup might be what it takes.”
“What would you know about running a place like this?” Joroush replied. “I stepped in and improved it.”
“Is that what you did?” Malcolm let his voice drop, the casual irreverence fading as he took a step closer. “That how you get the neighbors and the whole zone hating you?”
“They hate it when you’re stronger than them. Let ‘em hate. That’s the point.” Joroush’s confidence grew as he watched Malcolm consider the situation.
“Coulda sworn the point was to be better, better person that is. Guess that was my mistake.”
The back and forth continued, and Joroush became more brazen as the confrontation unfolded. It seemed the longer Malcolm took to respond, the more willing the others were to challenge him, even those who had appeared timid moments before. Joroush scanned the room, looking at his gang and the group clustered near Malcolm.
"Challenge me, Steele,” Joroush said. "I already took it from Sifferal and the rest. They weren't strong enough to run it. You think you are?"
Malcolm said nothing, and Joroush’s grin widened. The members Malcolm had pulled in started to shrink away, uncertainty clouding their faces.
“I think you’re afraid to find out,” Joroush said.
Malcolm shrugged, and the others drew back even further. He lowered his eyes to the ground, his voice a quiet murmur. “That it?”
Joroush puffed his chest, a lion asserting his claim. “Don’t let this ragtag crew go running again. Get your stuff. Fight’s gonna be quick.”
Then, just as suddenly, Malcolm let a wicked smile slip onto his face. “Okay, let’s do this. Hope you’re ready.” He saw the people around him stop in their tracks. Joroush glared, his surprise momentary as he watched Malcolm resume his old swagger.
Joroush scowled, trying to mask the hint of unease that flickered across his features. "I see you’re not just dangerous, but dumb."
Malcolm laughed. "Guess I’ll find out." He turned to the group surrounding him, leaning in as he offered quick instructions.
"Stick close,” Malcolm said. “You need to keep his gang honest. If they try to interfere, I’ll need you to step up. You guys make a stand and they won’t know what happened.”
Joroush moved in close enough to overhear, his sneer a dark, creeping thing. "That's your plan? Hope they don’t bail again? Got news for you, half the people with you were scared last time. Some of them came back to my side." He glanced at a few who had started with him and now stayed near Malcolm.
The defection caught him off guard, but he pressed on, "One hit and they’ll run again. You're outnumbered, even with the rest of them back on your side."
Malcolm watched as Joroush tried to regain the upper hand, to reassert his dominance in the face of this new challenge. "Thought it was a one-on-one fight?” he said, feigning surprise. "Guess your new guys are even bigger wimps than the old ones.”
Joroush barked out a laugh. "Like to see you take me without them. Don't count on it being easy." He glanced at his group and shook his head in disappointment.
Malcolm returned the smile, letting Joroush see the steely confidence behind his eyes. "Hope you’re as ready as you think you are."
Malcolm stood back up, drawing in a deep breath. "We’ve got more help than we need. Even if some of them jump ship again." He looked over the assembled members and grinned, feeding off the energy of those who had rallied to his side.
Malcolm set his sights on the ring, leading the way with a steady determination that left no room for doubt. Joroush fell in beside him, muscles tense and brimming with restrained aggression. The room buzzed with anticipation, the air thick with the expectation of what was to come.
Both men moved like predators, each convinced of their strength and their right to rule the theerat. Malcolm drew from the support of his new and returning allies, a force even he hadn’t expected to muster. They walked with him, lending weight to his side of the confrontation.
"Looks like I’ve got a better shot than you thought," Malcolm said as they neared the ring. "Hope you’re ready to lose more than a fight.”
Joroush smirked, unwilling to give ground even as the numbers shifted slightly against him. "I’ve broken stronger than you.” His voice held a trace of doubt, barely perceptible but enough for Malcolm to catch.
Malcolm matched the doubt with confidence of his own. "Not today." This feels off, and over the top villain in a contrived situation. Is this Black Dove? Or maybe the entertainment side of things? Side-quest hastily written? Wait—Sandy is this of your doing?
<
Of course not, that would be to helpful. I’ll just see this to the end.
Tumial charged into the gym, waving his arms like a man who’d just won the lottery, desperate to share the prize with anyone who would listen. “Gather round,” he shouted, breathless and giddy. More people poured in, familiar faces mixed with strangers, anticipation and nerves etched into their expressions. Members and neighbors and outsiders converged to witness the showdown, to see which way the power would swing. “Keep Joroush’s gang off him,” he bellowed, then folded his arms and took a stance next to Malcolm.
Everyone of the newly arrived stood and waited, wound tight with tension, ready to explode the moment things got dirty.Joroush gritted his teeth and whispered to where only Malcolm could hear. “You’re dead. Expect no mercy.”
"Don’t want it from you, so I’m already winning.”
Malcolm stepped into the ring, the familiar tarp under his feet bringing a surge of memory and purpose. Joroush followed, each step a declaration of his intent to crush any challenge. The crowd pressed in, forming a thick circle around them. Tumial had done his work well, there were more people than Malcolm had expected, a real showing of support.
The two men faced each other, Malcolm’s lean frame against the massive, imposing form of Joroush. Malcolm could almost feel the concern from his group, see it etched on their faces, the fear that he’d be crushed under the weight of this massive opponent.
Joroush's boots squeaked against the tarp as he hopped from foot to foot, arms raised overhead like a prizefighter. The crowd's murmurs swelled when he completed his lap and fixed his gaze on Malcolm, nostrils flaring. His fist whistled through the air—a roundhouse aimed at Malcolm's jaw that caught nothing but empty space. Malcolm's torso bent backward just enough, the punch missing by inches. Joroush's knuckles followed, darting toward Malcolm's ribs. The sound of flesh impacting flesh echoed as Malcolm deflected the blow. He retreated a step, watching Joroush pump his fist and bare his teeth at the onlookers. Celebrating his near hit.
He’s underestimated me, as I hoped. Yeah, he’s stronger, but I’m much faster. His strength didn’t seem to matter, not at first. Malcolm moved with the same fluid grace that always made him stand out. His jabs came swift and sharp, forcing Joroush to focus, to reconsider the man he’d dismissed as weak and not worth the effort.
For a moment, it seemed Malcolm was untouchable. The gang and the members held their breath, the suspense so thick it seemed to make breathing difficult. Then things shifted. It was barely perceptible at first, but Malcolm felt it like a distant quake. Joroush was adapting, catching the rhythm of Malcolm’s attacks, turning the momentum.
Inch by inch, Malcolm felt his advantage slip away. The gap between them narrowed, and Joroush began to find openings in Malcolm’s once-impenetrable defense. A punch connected, then another, and Malcolm staggered back, the crowd gasping as they saw their worst fears coming true.
“He’s doing it again,” someone muttered, and Malcolm knew he couldn’t let them see him fail.
Those words sparked something deep inside him. Like a dormant fire rekindled, Malcolm surged with renewed energy. His instincts screamed at him to give in, to fall back, to run, but something else pushed him forward. Couldn’t let them see him fail.
With sudden precision, Malcolm countered Joroush’s assault, ducking beneath a massive swing and letting loose with a rapid sequence of strikes. The tide shifted as quickly as it had turned, catching Joroush off guard and leaving him reeling.
His crew saw Malcolm’s determination and found strength in it. This time they wouldn’t let the gang take them by surprise. They closed ranks around the sparring ring, tightening the perimeter and preparing for the moment Joroush’s gang tried to interfere.
Another volley of blows found their mark, and Malcolm’s eyes narrowed as he sensed the break in Joroush’s confidence.
Joroush threw a soft jab towards Malcolm’s face. A simple block prevented it from landing anything other than forearm on forearm.
<
Poison? What type, if you can tell.
<
Interesting and slimy.
Malcolm stepped back, watching Joroush follow wanting to press his advantage. A quick thrust of Joroush’s hand landed on Malcolm’s ribcage, seeming to stagger the man.
Sensing victory secure, Joroush closed in for the kill. A flurry of blows peppered Malcolm.
<
A little more acting like I’ve slowed down and then I’ll get him.
<
Sandy, is that concern? I knew you cared.
<
Ah, this is the best time for frivolity. But your advice about taking punches is taken. I’ll almost dodge a haymaker, reduce the potential damage by the near dodge—then I’ll let him have it.
Joroush obliged by throwing another roundhouse, seemingly putting all he had into the punch. Malcolm moved, altering the angle of his head, allowing contact but most of the force of the punch was deflected.
Malcolm staggered, his eye on Joroush’s reaction. The immediate charge to finish the job didn’t disappoint. Malcolm answered the bull charge with an uppercut that buckled Joroush’s knees.