Canaan Club - 38. Chapter 38

Joe woke up with a start, pink soothing his aches before rejuvenating his energy back to normal levels. Wide, purple eyes scanned his surroundings – his teammates and the stage that was somehow no longer in pieces after his last attack. Being a living bomb will do that for you.

“Was it all a dream?” he muttered blankly.

“A dream come true,” Rafe placed a hand on his shoulder, scanning him up and down. “You okay?”

“You won, man!” Landon cheered. “That explosion thingy you just did saved you the match. Flashy!”

Andre was soon over, a hint of a shine to his brow as he delivered a bottle of water to him. Being the only water boy really must be a challenge on its own with all that running around he had to do. “Here’s your prize, champ!”

Joe thanked him and took the offering, and his whole being relaxed as he practically guzzled down the soothing liquid.

“Well done,” he heard Sigil say as he gulped. “Got a little distracted in some places, but we can clean that up next practice.”

“Sorry. Seeing those guys threw me for a loop. It felt so real!”

“Wayla always got you with her little tricks, so that’s not a surprise,” Rafe shook his head at his own memories of the young Sloane sibling. “Little asshole.”

“What exactly were you seeing, though?” Daeran asked nervously, fidgeting with his shirt. “Some of us didn’t notice a thing. It seemed so weird how you’d just stop in place like that.”

“Well…” Joe began to rattle off.

-POI-

Frodd considered himself pretty good at multitasking. He’s even taught himself how to from an earlier age, and being as on edge as he was right now, that skill was currently at its best. His five senses were trained on the three matches that were going on, paying close attention to the movements and techniques of each fighter.

There was this haughty way those Pratwith goons fought. Like they believed they were on the winning side or something.

As anxious as he felt, he really wanted to get in there and give ‘em quality time with his club. Show them what real fighting looked like. He hoped Daup was watching. Hoped he’ll be impressed with his performance.

He just had to win first.

Though, back to his knack for splitting his concentration, his ears were able to pick up the conversation around him. Such an example would be Rafe and Joe, who were conversing just beside him right now.

“So, that, uh, Atomic-whatever,” Rafe started. “That’s a new one.”

“Yup,” the noirette nodded quite happily for someone who just blew himself up. “Last-minute training from the folks before I got here. Honestly, bro, I thought it was gonna be a dud. Those Pratwith guys are nothin’ to fool around with, I’ll tell ya that.”

“Yeah. It’s getting tough.”

That statement couldn’t be any truer.

The second and fifth teams of their school had just suffered another loss while the third and sixth teams managed to pull a win by the skin of their teeth. The guys were more prepared than anything.

“Damn,” Rafe cursed, but then that ire transformed into steely determination, directing it at his other teammates as he spoke aloud. “Alright! From now on, we go big. Don’t hold anything back! Got it?”

“Yes, sir!” Frodd and everyone else responded dutifully, like a troop of warriors to their commander.

“Got potential for team leader over here,” Sigil smirked.

It was safe to say that the blond superhuman was commencing with his establishment of that position real well, and Frodd was both proud and envious of his friend for that…

Daupligdoth, or Daup, cut his anxious stammering off with a sneer. “Your excuses better remain on that tongue, boy, or I shall remove it once and for all.”

The first-year was reduced to a kneeling, subservient mess. “Yes. S-Sorry, Master.”

“We’re leavin’. Not only have you ruined my partyin’ mood by actin’ the maggot all night, but you’ve also embarrassed us by making others think we’re nothing but a bunch of psychotic, stone-pitching buffoons!”

“Oh, no. I got so angry, I-”

“Boy!” he pointed Frodd’s club at him in warning as if looking to stab him in the chest with it.

That shut Frodd up immediately, his sullen face aimed at the floor, but not before he sent a heated glare Rafe’s way. The superhuman just smirked back haughtily.

Daup then turned to stare down at Rafe. “As for you-”

“I ain’t one of your lackeys,” the blond glowered back, “so you can just shove it.”

There was no way he was going to be threatened by this big oaf even if he was-

“Actually, I was gonna say that I’m impressed by your skill. You’re somewhat shit-faced, but you’re still able to think on your feet when need be. Rafe, was it? You’d make a deadly brute, mate.”

He shook his head.

Yeah. Definitely, a little jealous.

One win and one loss on their side later, Frodd felt his skin sizzle when the zebra announcer proclaimed the next matchup.

“The fifth match shall proceed as follows. Team One, Froddgenskaenn of Ironward against Micha Levy of Pratwith!”

A human boy with red, parted hair and tan skin made his way onto the platform, confidence that Frodd did not have in every step.

Based on pre-studies of the other team, Micha Levy was a hunter, which meant that he was savvy with weapons and such like Joe, but where-

A single tap on a wristwatch on his opponent’s left wrist suddenly brought changes nobody was expecting.

Every now and then, when he wasn’t training and being teased by his family for being small fry, he deigned to utilize today’s technology and watch whatever the rest of society viewed on television. And lately, he’s taken a liking to superhero stuff.

So, seeing such a small device abruptly explode into a smorgasbord of blue and gray mechanics and machinery to form some sort of… advanced exoskeleton made his inner fanboy squeak. On the outside, however, he gulped. Looking down, he eyed the single white leaf that had mysteriously grown on his club.

If all else failed…

A slap on the back made him jump, but his pursed lips kept an unmanly, frightened squeal from coming out.

“You’re up to bat, man,” Joe patted him. “Break a leg! Not yours, though!”

“Go for the head! They’re easier to handle when their brains are turned to mush!” Rafe advised gruffly.

Hm. He was probably remembering their fight at the party.

Andre chuckled, somewhere behind the barbarian. “Someone wants to fight badly.”

He had been unusually quiet for the time being, knowing he was about to be called up any time now. Either his clan was busy with other matters – and wouldn’t that be an ol’ kick in the junk? – or they were watching with narrow, meticulous glares, scrutinizing their low-tier barbarian’s every move.

He sighed and closed his eyes. Man, he’d feel a lot better if he wasn’t wearing these white tennis shoes Coach Hemming had lent him. For some reason, it was a part of the mandatory uniform.

“Ancient savage gods give me strength. Don’t worry, my boys. I’ll secure us another win ‘n no time!”

And he took his first steps toward victory.

Either that or his impending doom and humiliation.

He studied the metallic ensemble uneasily. It was pretty polished and the colors mixed well together. On the wrist of his opponent’s left arm, it read “INVICTUS”. He knew next to nothing about gizmos such as these – being from a world where advanced technology was seen as a blight against the gods – but he could guess that that was the name of the model. What tricks and doodads did this one have up its metal sleeve, though?

Frodd scratched at his head, making a further mess out of his red bedhead. “Nice suit, mate.”

Might as well make a friend outta him before they started beating the piss out of each other.

“Thanks, mate,” Micha nodded, a smile in his British voice, which almost sounded as if it was coming out of a radio. “Nice bat.”

“Y-Yeah. May the best man win.”

“Oh, I’m more than a man.”

Whatever the hell that meant. Frodd shook his head and centered his focus, keeping a mental eye on the zebra announcer making his way off the stage.

Without turning around as he clunked off the edge, he shouted, “Let the match… begin!”

Frodd charged first and fast, club positioned to swing and strike, while Micha glared behind his helmet. The suited-up fighter only moved when his opponent closed in on him, deftly blocking the weapon with his left arm. Wood and metal collided, sending vibrations that made the barbarian’s arm shiver.

Gritting his teeth, he rebounded off the guard and quickly spun around to aim from his left. Another clash with Micha’s armor but his guard wouldn’t give. Frodd tightened his right fist and surged forth with a hook, however, his arm was knocked away by a simple brush-off.

Frodd let loose a roar accompanied by a barrage of punches, kicks, and swings. Micha joined him, his machine-enhanced movements surprisingly keeping up.

“Pretty… impressive… for a normie!” Frodd spoke in between trading attacks.

“You have your boosted instincts, but INVICTUS’s A.I. can keep up with your speed with no problem!”

“Oh, yeah? I’m guessing you’ve tested it against magic, right?”

Micha was nearly fooled by a feint cross, barely dodging the club haymaker, and rocketed back to gain some distance.

Frodd grasped the handle of his club with both hands and breathed in deeply, allowing a significant amount of iridescent magic to pour out of him and shroud the stick. The young barbarian leaped into the air and held his weapon like a javelin spear.

“Kaan Spear!” he cried before launching the attack down, whistling as he speedily descended.

His foe took a step back in alarm before his thrusters ignited, hurriedly propelling him into the sky as the projectile detonated the second it touched ground, blowing off a portion of the stage and uplifting a sizable cloud of exhaust.

“How’s that!?” Frodd taunted, excitement welling up in his chest.

Which immediately evaporated when the power suit flew out of the dust, seemingly unaffected.

“Not too shabby, mate! Allow me to respond in kind!”

Micha zoomed in from Frodd’s right, barreling into the barbarian midair, the top of his helmet slamming into the redhead’s stomach, causing the latter to force out a gasp of pain.

Frodd struggled to unlatch an arm from the iron boy’s grip. He needed his entire arm for this to work. The edge of the platform was getting uncomfortably close, and he was beginning to panic. With a final shout, Frodd put all of his strength into heaving his left arm out of the hold, hurriedly extending it to where he could see his club in the resulting crater.

“Hither!”

As if it had a mind of its own, the club promptly twitched once. Twice.

Then shot off toward the barbarian’s hand at his silent plea, nothing but an invisible power dragging it back to its owner. In less than a second, it was back in Frodd’s hand, and he secured it in his clutches before hammering it down onto Micha’s metallic head with one, powerful swing.

The hit was enough to make the iron boy cry out and loosen his grip. Frodd hastily climbed over him, planting both feet on the suit’s back before springing off of it like a trampoline. Micha jostled for a moment as he went to correct himself, flying up to dive back into bounds upside down.

Frodd, safely back on stone ground, exhaled a shaky breath before turning to his fast-approaching opponent. Micha straightened out his left arm, fist clenched, and the back of the hand lifted a couple of inches to reveal a row of mini-missiles.

“Okay, Froddgenskaenn,” he muttered to himself, trying to ignore his gut sinking into the abyss. “Nothin’ you ain’t faced before.”

“Can your little bat get a home run with these!?” Micha taunted.

The missiles were launched, smoke trailing behind the five miniature rockets. Frodd let his arms down by his side and huffed out a chuckle.

“Actually, I prefer t’ strike out with those kinds o’ pitches!”

As soon as the missiles closed in on him, the barbarian began his evasion. He sidestepped the first, then ducked the second one, both of them producing pretty harmless explosions behind him. The third one homed in on his crouched position, but Frodd just slid himself forward before rolling away to the right, effectively avoiding the fourth one as well.

The rolling maneuver gave him enough momentum to sit up and vault himself toward his opponent, club raised over his head. “How strong is that material, mate!?”

Micha lifted a clenched fist. “Pretty strong stuff, especially if you can’t get passed my shield!”

The second he finished that sentence, a green bubble enveloped the power-suited human. Frodd blinked but continued, gathering more strength to hopefully burst through it and get a quick bonk to the head.

Alas, that proved to be too much of a fortunate occurrence as the emerald buffer didn’t even budge, absorbing the force with little resistance.

A shudder ran through Frodd’s arms. What kind of energy did he just hit?

As if reading his mind, Micha answered him. The smug smirk could be heard behind that visor. “Bio-soul energy. Or, at least, an artificial version of it. Twenty-five percent was enough to nullify your attack.

“Shoulda put more back into it, eh?” the barbarian attempted a joke, which surprisingly got a chuckle out of the other boy.

“Probably. Let me show you how it’s done.”

If this weren’t an official battle, it could be a friendly sparring session. Gods know it wasn’t often he had one of those.

The shield dissipated in an instant, allowing Frodd to freefall back to the platform. However, it was not to be taken as a reprieve. Micha stretched his right arm out in a similar fashion to earlier, and up popped a new line of mini-missiles. They chased the barbarian downward, and Frodd’s mind flared in alarm as they nearly swallowed up the distance even as he descended.

Need t’ move! Need t’ move! he panicked.

His body reflexes kicked in, and the millisecond the tip of his shoe – gods, they just did not feel right – touched home base, he took a long dive backward and set into a series of backflips, escaping collision after collision by a hair’s breadth.

But then came the smoke.

Exhaust filled his vision, and Frodd scratched at his eyes as gray became his world.

Then, it was white with a side dish of pain as metal, or, more specifically, a metal fish buried itself in his gut. Bile flew out of the barbarian’s mouth as he was flung some feet away.

God’s piss! How was that suit not an unfair advantage!? Compared to not wearing shoes?

His reaction was more out of frustration than anything. Frodd wound back and tossed his club at where Micha appeared.

“That’s not gonna work a second time!” the radio voice hollered.

A clank of metal and wood told him that it had been deflected. The Ironward redhead opened his eyes to witness his weapon twirling in the air, the leaf on it whipping back and forth. Meanwhile, a long barrel formed atop his right arm.

“BSE power output. Thirty percent! Let’s see you block this without your stick!”

With a grin, Frodd kept his eyes on his power-suited foe as he extended a hand. “Alrighty. But you first.”

“Me-”

It was a different verse, but it was the same as the first. The club came soaring back, spinning like a frisbee, to cuff Micha on the shoulder. At the same moment, his attack launched, shooting out a red laser beam that missed the intended target by a mile. Instead, a poor corner pillar got the end of the deal, slicing it clean off from the root.

Oh, he could’ve handled that. He had Rafe to thank for that one.

Nevertheless, Frodd charged forth, grabbing his returning club as he ran to get another strike in. He needed to make this one count before he could start using magic. These Pratwith fellows were some tricky melters.

“Fore!” Frodd couldn’t help excitedly shouting as he swung his club at Micha.

But, for some reason, the universe loved making him look like a fool because the power suit fell backward, avoiding a clean hit by a whisker. The barbarian imagined his face was one for the books, especially when four steel appendages that eerily held the appearance of spider legs sprouted from his back and stopped Micha from landing.

“I’m afraid that looks more like a baseball bat, mate! Not a golf club!”

And once again, Frodd’s midsection became the scapegoat for his failure, the drop kick accompanied by rocket boots to really get that height.

His clan must be laughing by now. Or they just turned off the TV. All that training he had to beg Draup for and it was proving to be of no use. And against a normal human no less.

Amidst the pain, shame, an old friend, welled up in his chest.

Gunfire reached his ears, and the barbarian instinctively crossed his arms as what felt like rubber bullets pelt his forearms. He barely had the frame of mind to ignore the pain and start blocking with his club. With the wooden blockade in place, gravity took a better hold and made him plummet, his weapon in a pose to stab downward.

Micha, as expected, ceased fire and jumped back, huffing as the club penetrated the platform.

Frodd himself wasn’t doing too hot. Cuts and bruises littered what was visible on his upper chest and his arms revealed by the torn fabric. He panted slowly, frustration clear in his brown eyes.

Of all days, his curse had to act up! Those two hits he got in were merely flea bites. Apparently, he only got results if he was hammered. He swore he did better than this against Rafe. Frodd winced, this one out of embarrassment.

Gods, he forgot they were watching.

“Looks like I’ll have to wear you down a bit more, then,” Micha snorted. “No problem. How about we end it with the ‘Ring-a-round the Rosie’.”

“Oh… come on,” Frodd let out a heavy breath. “At least, let me go with some dignity. I’m not gonna fall for some trick with a nursery rhyme named after it.”

The suit shrugged. “It got me somewhere the first time. All I have to do is crank it up a couple of levels.”

“The first time?”

His confusion was immediately answered when the Pratwith fighter pointed at the floor, and a black gaseous substance shrouded the stage. Frodd yelped as his vision was quickly obscured in darkness.

That, and his ears suddenly… popped.

“Seriously? This again? I can just-”

That awful gunfire rang out again, but it was distant this time. Like it was occurring somewhere outside of the colosseum.

So why could he feel another assault of rubber bullets striking against his back?

Frodd cried out in pain before skipping out of the line of fire.

That didn’t help. Another round attacked his left shoulder, making him nearly drop his club.

Move. Nope. His other side got the rough treatment.

Blind. Partially deaf. And the acrid smell of the ashes and his blood. He was in a sensory nightmare. He tried swinging his weapon, hoping for a miracle. No such luck. He was essentially lunging at air, and his opponent was at a safe distance and protected by his suit.

Not… gonna last long. Need… t’ get rid… of th’ smoke!

Screw it. He was running out of stamina anyway. Might as well start using magic now. He should have from the start, but he just had to go and underestimate the enemy!

It drained him a little more than usual as he poured arcane energy into his club. With both hands on deck, he spun, becoming a literal whirlwind as magic transmuted into air. It created a tornado, wrapping the black smoke along with it and expanding outward.

The sunlight and raucous crowd were like balms to the soul.

Micha himself, just like he assumed, was a large gap away, the green shield erected over him. If that maddening suit of his was using energy, he had to run out of it sometime, right?

“Man, that stick of yours works wonders, does it, mate?” he sounded truly fascinated. “It’s impressive how you can channel your power into it like that. Honestly, I want to have a look at it. It can’t be just wood.”

Frodd grinned, hoping it appeared manic enough. “God’s armor. And nobody’s… touching me baby… but me.”

“Just a tiny poke. I’ll make a deal with ya. After I win this match, I get a brief look at it, what do you say?”

“You? Win? Already countin’ me out, aye, ye feckin’ goon!”

“Mate. You look like you’re thirty seconds from blacking out. I can reduce that number for you so you can get those bruises healed up right away.”

The barbarian narrowed his eyes and forced his feet to straighten. He would not be looked down on this time. “No chance. I didn’t come here t’ bargain. I came here t’ win. And I ain’t close to bein’ finished yet!”

His club promptly sparked with crackling neon green embers, golden tendrils of lightning flashing coinciding with the power of his conviction.

He can’t fall here! He needed to win! Daup was surely watching, and if he lost this…

Out of the corner of his eye, Frodd peaked at the white lead protruding from the wood, unblemished by the goings-on of the battle.

“So much spunk, but it’s been fun, man,” Micha clicked his tongue. “Gotta give credit to Vultros for this one. That tail of his sure comes in handy.”

For a moment, Frodd thought the guy was going to shoot another laser at him. Instead, a tiny aperture opened up on the latter’s right shoulder pad. Another long barrel pointed itself at him, but what came out was not black smoke.

It was purple, thick, and heading straight for the barbarian like an angry, sentient cloud. And before he had a chance to move, the toxic gas wafted over him, biting into his skin and making his bruises burn. Still, he steadfastly held onto the little clear air he had time to suck in.

N-No! I-I-I can’t-

He dropped his club, the weapon clattering uselessly next to his feet as his remaining magic was slowly and promptly sapped out.

Stay out of this, lil’ Frodd. You’re way too small and frail to play around with us.

A bout of nausea made him sway on his feet…

You’re a liability to the clan, tiny one. You might as well be swingin’ a stick.

…and black spots began to pool in his vision.

Hark! The anomaly of Sinopé is at it once again!

His knees buckled.

And he hardly heard the sound of his head bumping against his club.

-POI-

Rafe had to grip the fabric of his uniform pants so his nails wouldn’t cut into his palm. His friend and teammate had been quickly swallowed by the poisonous fog, leaving him a silhouette rocking back and forth in an attempt to stay upright.

It was a losing battle, for not a second later, the shape collapsed.

“That… That’s not gonna kill him, is it?” he gaped.

“Jesus!” Joe hissed, face pinched in concern. “That’s a little overboard, don’t you think?”

Daeran wasn’t faring any better, looking way too spooked as his mouth moved a mile a minute. “He was already half out of it. Why didn’t that guy just push him out or something?”

“Dammit!” the blond cursed. “I fucking hate those metal suits! Put it on and suddenly they think they’re gods!”

And, of course, this is speaking from experience on that one. It was the next best thing below being born a superhuman in the Coat. The INVICTUS model was an Alumen classic, but Rafe had no doubt the guy had made some recent modifications.

The fact that they could just ‘create’ powers for themselves put a sour taste in his mouth.

He couldn’t wait to destroy the entire thing one day.

Sigil, beside him, solemnly shrugged, almost seeming as if they agreed with him. “As long as it’s approved beforehand, anything goes.”

“Hold on,” Landon’s eyes narrowed as he leaned his head forward. “I… I hear something.”

“What is it?” Rafe whispered, taking a step forward to try and pick up a single sound from the unmoving figure.

“Sounds like… chewing.”

What?

It was a collective thought. One that fell into further mystification as the downed silhouette shuffled once.

Twice.

And started to pull himself up, strangely impervious to the slowly dissipating toxic smoke around him.

“Woah…” Joe gawked.

Rafe, along with the others, wore a similar expression. “Is he…?”

Micha was, understandably, flummoxed above all else. “Wha- What? How… are you…?”

A low, throaty laugh spilled out of the barbarian’s mouth as he stumbled to his feet, and slurred, “I… I think that helmet o’ yers… is cloggin’ up yer ears, mate. Don’t ya listen? I said… I ain’t close… to bein’ finished yet!”

Frodd charged.

Faster than he should have been and faster than he ever had. He could have sworn he heard his foe let out a frightened, brief squeal even as he pressed another button somewhere on his suit.

“I-I don’t know how you got up again, but you have to be on your last leg! I’ll end it with this!”

The opening that once sprouted mechanical spider legs launched four kunai attached to chains. The Ironward, and probably most of the crowd, watched in amazement and befuddlement as the barbarian, who had toppled over just a couple of seconds ago, rolled, ducked, and weaved out of their lines of trajectory in one, quick, and smooth succession.

“This’ll put you out!” Micha shouted, though, his voice lacked the confidence it once had.

Poison smoke fanned out, speeding alarmingly fast toward Frodd, who was running too quick to dodge in time.

“Bro, watch out-” Joe called.

There was no need.

One swipe of his club generated a huge gust of wind that completely wiped the toxic smoke away. Frodd’s approach was calm and swift, his eyes alive and gleaming with renewed vigor.

“H-”

Micha never had any time to finish the word. Frodd was already before him, club in the process of zipping for his head.

CLACK!!

The strike rang true, and the power-suited individual was forced off his feet, backflipping in the air and away…

…dozens of feet out of bounds on his back.

He didn’t get back up again.

The zebra confirmed this a minute later after a quick checkup. “Micha Levy has been knocked out of bounds! Froddgenskaenn of Ironward wins!”

The crowd, as expected, went wild, pleasantly stunned by the turnaround of a match.

“H-He did it!” Joe stepped back and raised his arms, still in disbelief. “Holy shit! He won!”

“At the last minute, too,” Rafe added, shocked at what just happened. He was just about ready to accept another loss. “That club of yours sure can work some miracles.”

Frodd staggered his way back to his teammates, Rafe and Joe flanking him to keep him upright as Sigil shot a beam of pink magic from their horn to heal him right up.

“A burst of energy. Out of nowhere? How’d you do it, kid?”

The stupor the barbarian had been in after the match ended was gone, leaving a quite energetic Frodd, who had a bright smile that rivaled Andre’s and feet that would not quit bouncing on their heels. He must feel very proud after his win.

He should, too. Rafe knew the dude got a lot of flack from his folks for being the runt of the litter.

“O-Oh, that? Mr. Rotar’s magic lessons must be comin’ in handy if I was able to pull off a one-up spell at th’ brink like that. Just needed a little help.”

He lifted his club, the white leaf bitten in half.

“When did you get the time to do this?” Daeran inspected it.

“When?” Landon balked. “Don’t you mean ‘how’? I’ve never seen a plant grow directly from wood before.”

Frodd shook his head, his grin stretching wider. “Can’t give away all my secrets. I still owe this one a rematch later.”

“Hell, count me interested,” Rafe shrugged, patting the redhead on the back.

“It was there when it was approved,” Sigil nodded to the leaf. “Good job out there.”

Frodd bowed. “Did nothing but the best, coach.”

The rest of the team congratulated him, making his jovial mood soar even higher. And while Andre came over with a bottle of water as his reward for a job well done, the announcer called for the next fight.

“The sixth match shall proceed as follows. Team One, Rafe Gold of Ironward against Vultros Aether of Pratwith.”

Rafe’s insides stirred eagerness-

No.

Bloodlust.

About time he got to paint these knuckles red once again.

Damn. If only Andre could hear what he was thinking. He probably could judging by that knowing smirk aimed the superhuman’s way.

Don’t go too wild out there, dude, the omé’s face said.

Rafe was sure he had a scary smile on his.

I’ll try not to kill them, but it will come awfully close.

“Watch out for that tail,” Daeran mentioned, wincing at the sight of Vultros, healed and everything, sauntering back onto the ring with cool assurance, his snake tail swinging like a pendulum and hissing when it rose.

“Time for the big guns,” Joe elbowed him encouragingly.

Undeterred, Rafe punched his fist into his palm. “And some much-needed revenge.”