Ascendants of Ancients Sovereign

CHAPTER 16

The Fight





The Arena in Angels Village

Southern Grayham





SAM WAS ANGRY WHEN he came back from his unsuccessful search for a new pair of pants, and Shalee was dying inside because she could not tell him anything Mosley had said. Sam’s clothing issue gave Shalee a chance to focus on something new. She had never been good at keeping secrets, but then again, she had never had a secret of this importance.

Sam had worked himself into a panic, and he was storming around his preparation room. “I can’t go out there looking like this! I’ll be the laughing stock of the village. These trunks are too tight. I look like a giant Richard Simmons. Paint me green, and I’d look like a queer hulk. I’ll be damned before I go out there looking like a freak. You should see how the people were staring at me.”

Shalee smiled and threw Sam his old pair of torn, leather pants. “My goodness, we can’t have you looking silly out there, now can we? Why don’t you put these on as best you can. I’ve got an idea.”

“Why would I do that? They don’t fit!”

“Sam Goodrich, don’t you make me stomp this foot on the ground,” she said, not liking his tone. “I said put them on as best you can. Now git! I might be able to fix your pants ... and your boots.”

Sam did as he was told and pulled on the shredded mess. He watched as Shalee raised her staff and pointed it at him. “Wait! What are you doing? I don’t want you to use your magic on me. What if you screw up? Save all that hocus-pocus for someone else.”

“Shush up, and stop being a baby!” Shalee barked. “I know what I’m doing. Just be quiet and stand there. I need to concentrate.”

Once again, she lifted her staff and pointed it at the leather pants. “Precious, luane!” she shouted with an authority that surprised Sam.

To the fighter’s amazement, the leather started to grow and add to itself as if it was alive. It did not take long before he was standing in a perfectly formed piece of clothing.

“Holy cow! That’s incredible!” Sam stopped and took the moments necessary to adjust his mind. “I’m going to thank you for this later,” he promised. He lifted her in the air and planted a big kiss on her cheek.

Shalee enjoyed the affection, but in the back of her mind, she realized the staff had not rewarded her for her success. There would not be many more tears of joy, and she knew the intimate relationship with her petrified, wooden friend would soon be over. However, she grinned in anticipation of the replacement relationship she would have with Sam. The transition could not have come at a more perfect moment.

Once Sam lowered her to the floor, Shalee commanded Precious to repair his boots. Like his pants, the leather mended itself and formed to his feet.

Sam bent over to kiss her again just as BJ walked into the room. All the trainer could see was the large back of a huge man. Not recognizing his student, the trainer excused himself.

Sam called out, “BJ, wait! Don’t go!”

The trainer reentered the room. Stunned, BJ could see it was Sam’s face, but nothing else resembled the person he knew. He rubbed his eyes as if he was in some sort of dream and then looked again. “Sam?”

“It’s me. You won’t believe me when I tell you, but I’ve been transformed.”

A bewildered expression appeared on BJ’s face. “How?”

“By the new God of War, Mosley,” Sam replied.

The trainer pondered a moment before he responded. “Aren’t you referring to the wolf? Isn’t Mosley the wolf? Bassorine is the God of War.”

Before Sam could respond, the bell of the arena sounded. It was his turn to fight. On the way out of the room, he patted BJ on the back. “I’ll explain everything later. Watch my fight, will you? I need as much feedback as I can get.”

Sam was the first to enter the arena. He still did not know who his opponent was. As he entered, the crowd cheered. The atmosphere reminded him of his fight in Vegas. Sure, this arena and the style of fighting were far different than anything he had known, and the mat was made of sand, but the cheering of the crowd was the same. He raised his hands and allowed himself to enjoy the moment.

After taking his position, Sam grabbed his wooden stave. He moved it around and was surprised at how his actions were much quicker than they were while training with BJ. Right on, he thought. With Mosley’s gifts, I can open up a can of godly whoop-ass. BJ’s going to flip when he sees this fight.

Sam’s opponent entered the arena. As if a light switch was toggled, Sam’s demeanor changed. He was all business as he sized up the man who moved across the arena floor. His adversary was a few inches shorter. He was also thinner and did not look to be much of a threat—until he started to move his stave around with great precision. Sam had never seen anything like it. The man’s movements were fast, so fast that he muttered under his breath, “This is going to hurt. So much for godly whoop-ass.”

As Sam crossed the arena to engage his opponent, he reminded himself that there were no rules. On this world, a fight was a fight, and no matter what happened, there was no stopping it. It did not matter if he took a shot to the groin, head-butt to the face, had sand thrown in his eyes, or any other cheap shot—he still had to fight his way through it all. This form of battle was the truest form of fighting he could experience, and he was about to get his first taste of real brutality.

The wooden staves collided, echoing across the arena as the people cheered. A quick crushing elbow smashed into the side of Sam’s head, followed by another stinging strike by his opponent’s stave against the upper part of his back.

Sam was stunned as the man spun effortlessly from one strike to the next. The force of the blow to his back made his nerves scream, and it was strong enough to knock him into a stumbling fall. But Sam managed to roll to his feet and ready himself for the next attack. The pain sent a thunderous message—pay attention!

His adversary attacked with the tip of his stave. The thrust, part of a combination of moves, was meant for Sam’s belly, but Sam blocked them all. However, a spinning leg followed the onslaught, and it knocked Sam to the ground where he landed with a thud.

As he fell, Sam saw the man continue the sweep to a position where he could deliver another powerful, potentially life-ending strike. Sam managed to block this downward thrust that was meant for his head before it made contact with his face. The strike was so forceful, it knocked Sam’s stave into his forehead. Sam instantly realized the fight would have been over, as well as his life, if he had not been successful at stopping the advance.

Sam brought up his left leg, twisting for the right angle as he did, and buried his foot into the backside of the man’s knee. The collision brought his foe to his knees, but his enemy was still able to swing his stave. Sam was barely able to roll away fast enough to avoid the wicked slice. He felt the rush of air as the weapon narrowly missed his face.

Sam stood and backed off to regain his composure. He moved far enough so he would have the moments to think. He wanted to replay both strikes that were meant for his head in his photographic memory. It was clear that his opponent was trying to do permanent damage. His rival was not trying to make him submit—he was trying to end him.

After reviewing each strike in his mind again, Sam now felt like a dog that had been backed into a corner. He was out of his element, and his fear needed to be channeled. He had no choice but to turn his fear into an angry storm, or his journey would be ended before it began. He needed to let out the demon that was caged at the back of his mind. He closed his eyes and opened its door. Now—he would be the deliverer of pain. He no longer had an opponent. He and his inner demon had an enemy.

Sam circled and motioned for his foe to stand. As he did, his anger magnified with each breath, and his enemy took note of the change in Sam’s eyes.

Some moments passed as the combatants sized each other up. Suddenly, the man threw himself into a roll as Sam’s raging mind took control. Sam watched his enemy come out of the roll to attempt another strike, but Sam was ready and blocked it with ease.

Sam’s mind continued to slow the pace, blocking three other strikes that were meant for his head, stomach, and groin. He countered with a punch of his own that pounded against his enemy’s temple. The hilt of his stave amplified the impact and caused his knuckles to sink deeper than normal.

Stunned, his rival tried to reach out to restrict Sam’s offense, but Sam spun to escape the man’s grasp to ensure he remained off balance. As he exited his spin, Sam brought down his stave against his enemy’s reaching forearm—his new god-given strength behind it. The weapon pulverized his foe’s left arm and snapped it like a twig. The loud crack filled the air and sent the crowd into a frenzy.

Sam watched his enemy’s stave fall to the ground, but despite the pain in his arm, the man tried to retrieve his weapon.

Sam’s inner demon would no longer allow him to feel compassion. His rage had grown far too great for that, and he was now completely out of control. The sound of the man’s arm breaking, along with the crowd’s cheers, fueled the fire inside his hardened heart. His demon wanted vengeance for the attempt on his life.

Sam stepped forward and kicked his foe in the head to stop him from retrieving his stave. He waited for the man to regain his composure and allowed his good arm to reach out to grab his weapon. As he did, Sam’s demon swung again and broke the man’s right arm. Another loud snapping sound could be heard, but now it was not only his opponent’s arm that broke—the strike was so severe the wood of Sam’s weapon splintered.

Realizing his stave was useless, Sam adjusted. He discarded his weapon, snatched his adversary’s limp arms and twisted. He and his inner demon enjoyed the man’s cries as the bones ground against each other. They yanked unmercifully and then let go.

The arms of Sam’s enemy were useless as he fell forward. Unable to catch himself, the man’s face broke his fall as he slammed into the floor of the arena with his scream blowing the sand away from his mouth.

Sam and his demon were fighting like a rabid dog, unable to think of anything but victory. With no opposition, Sam’s next strike was wide open. His enemy was unable to lift from the ground to defend himself in any manner. Sam’s insanity took no note of this helplessness and without hesitation, he jumped into the air and landed with a crushing knee to the base of the man’s neck. Another loud crunching sound covered the man’s cry of surrender. The screaming fans were fueled by the noise, and the force of the strike left his opponent unconscious.

Sam reached for the broken right arm and twisted it into a triangulated position behind his enemy’s back. The pain woke the man from his unconscious state, but he would not be given the chance to call out his surrender.

Sam’s demon used the adrenaline coursing through Sam’s body to his advantage. The demon forced Sam to ignore his enemy’s defenseless position as they raised their right leg high into the air to bring all of Sam’s 250-pound frame down as hard as they could. The blow landed just above the top of the enemy’s shoulder blade between the bone and the man’s spine. The force behind the knee was severe enough to break not only the scapula, but also the ribs beneath it. The ribs tore away from the spine as, once again, bone-crushing sounds filled the arena.

The spectators did not cheer. They were quiet, understanding the severity of what was happening to the fallen. They knew this fight was not meant to be to the death, but Sam was too far gone and still in survival mode. He was not able to consider the man’s future, nor was he able to feel compassion. He was sure the man would still kill him if given the opportunity. His inner-demon forced him to keep going. Sam became an enraged torturer, not a fighter.

He rolled off the body and toward his foe’s stave. With his mind clouded and unable to realize his enemy was deceased, he delivered another series of thunderous blows, striking over and over again to the back, arms, and head, tearing away at them like a wild beast.

Sam lost his own gentle soul, which for the moment had no power to claim him and had turned away in rebuke. It was not until after a voice from the crowd cried out to stop, that he ceased his assault.

It was Shalee—the only voice strong enough to bring Sam back far enough from his insanity that he could once again cage his inner-demon. Hearing her plea, Sam became aware of the man’s condition. His feelings returned, and what was left of his gentle spirit was once again able to embrace him. The compassion of the doctor inside him brought forth remorse as he backed away from the body and grabbed his head with his free hand. Rage had turned to disbelief, then horror and finally, it transformed into a tragic, grief-filled sorrow.

Sam moved in and knelt on one knee. He dropped his stave to the ground and then reached in to feel for a pulse. Nothing. Not a single beat could be found. A wave of emotion swept through him as he quickly rolled the man over and placed his hands on his sternum. Thirty chest compressions later, he adjusted the man’s head and tried to deliver two breaths, but the air refused to expand his chest. The blow to the back of the man’s neck had been so traumatic that the bones had been pushed forward to the front of his throat, and they were obstructing his airway. Nothing could be done to save him.

Realizing the damage he had inflicted, Sam fell back into a seated position. The murderer brought up his knees, buried his head into his forearms and wept.

The crowd remained silent—not a whisper or comment, only shocked looks stared down at the arena floor as they watched Sam wail.

This was the first life Sam had taken. He had not only taken this life, but lost part of his soul while doing it. He knew he was a murderer, the antithesis of the healing physician his father had wanted him to be. Mr. Hyde had temporarily controlled the good doctor, and as a result, Sam was left with a heavy heart, making it nearly impossible to move. His father would not have approved.

BJ calmed the nobles, suggesting that it would be a good series of moments to leave the arena. Once everyone had cleared the box, the trainer rushed to the fighting surface. BJ had been in many fights over his seasons, and he knew full well the range of emotions his pupil was feeling. He, too, had lost control in the arena and paralyzed a young boy of only 18 seasons—a deed that still haunted him to this very Peak.

BJ arrived to find Shalee sitting with Sam in her arms. She was doing her best to comfort him. BJ reached down and lifted Shalee off the sand and motioned for her to step away.

“Young lady, I admire your effort, but Sam’s pain is something you cannot fix. Until you have felt the destruction inside the arenas, you can’t understand. Go back to the inn and wait. I’ll bring him to you once we’ve spoken. He has broken no laws, and he’ll face no consequences.”

BJ cupped Shalee’s chin, forcing her eyes to find his. “The result of this fight is favorable and word will spread. This is the truth of the arenas. When next Sam fights, his opponent will know of this Peak’s outcome. A victory this brutal could instill fear in the heart of a weaker man. This is a glorious Peak.”

Shalee struggled to understand BJ’s candor. The barbarism of this world made her sick to her stomach. She whispered, “My Lord in Heaven, BJ, how can killing a man be okay? It’s not right. I should stay with him. He needs me. Killing is a crime where we’re from. You don’t understand us. You can’t understand us. It’s not possible.”

BJ walked Shalee to the arena gate, removed a torch from the wall and handed it to her. “Do as I say, and go. Men are the same ... no matter where they’re from. You must trust that a man with my seasons understands the struggles of battle. This isn’t up for debate. I said go.”

Frustrated, Shalee did as BJ commanded. She motioned to Helga that she was ready to leave, and she was grateful to have a friend to talk with. However, she turned to BJ and gave a command of her own. “You tell Sam that I’m here for him when you’re done. He’ll need me. Don’t you ever doubt that.” Having said what she needed to, Shalee turned to leave.

BJ shook his head, grabbed a torch of his own and walked over to stand above Sam. The trainer watched as the arena morticians carried the corpse away on a stretcher with three slave boys holding torches to guide their way. The sun was dropping below the horizon, and the pitch black of night was approaching fast.

BJ turned his attention to the weeping fighter and lowered his torch to the sand. As the light flickered off Sam’s face, BJ’s voice turned fatherly. “Get up, son. Be the man you need to be. I’m not about to let a student of mine feel sorry for himself. Stand up, dust yourself off, and act like a warrior.”

Sam lifted his head and let out a penetrating cry of remorse. “Aahhhhhhhhhh!” His cry served to finish quieting the demon that was still pounding against the door of its cage in the depths of his mind.

BJ was patient and watched as his student stood, brushed himself off, and began to walk toward the gates of the arena. BJ snatched up his torch and followed. Again, he used a fatherly voice while they walked. “I know how you’re feeling, Sam. I have also become enraged in battle. The arenas of this world carry with them much emotion and just as much death. You aren’t the first to kill. You’ll come to terms with this, I promise. In a short while, your name will be known throughout the kingdom. You’re going to be great. The gods have seen to that.”

As they continued to converse, BJ kept his arm around his fighter all the way to the inn. When they arrived, they stopped outside. The trainer spoke sternly, but softly. “Sam, I want you to look me in the eyes. Let me know you’ve heard everything I’ve said.”

“I’ve heard you, BJ,” Sam replied. “I just don’t know how to move on from here. I’ve never killed anyone before. How does a guy move on from something like this? This goes against everything I believe in. I’m supposed to be a doctor, not a murderer. I’m not the healer my father desired.”

“You don’t get over this,” BJ responded. “A man must learn from his experiences and use them to grow. Most men know the physical risks involved when entering the arena, but only warriors know the destruction it has on the soul. You’ve done something awful. I understand that. I also have beliefs and values, but you must adapt in order to survive. You’ll be okay, son. I promise.”

Seeing Sam nod, BJ continued. “The opponent you faced tonight killed 12 men. I didn’t know this until one of the nobles mentioned it. I would’ve stopped the fight, but it’s against the law to do so. If you hadn’t killed him, perhaps he would’ve killed you.”

Sam thought a moment and realized BJ was right. “Okay, okay. I see your point. I agree. He would’ve killed me if he had the chance.” A long, deep breath followed. “This is just a tough pill to swallow. I need to think.”

BJ sighed. “I can tell you how I got over my anxieties if you would like to know, but you must take me seriously if I tell you. You must promise to do exactly as I suggest. Are you ready to listen?”

“Just tell me what to do,” Sam barked, hoping to hear some kind of great wisdom from the older man.

The trainer nodded. “You have someone waiting for you. Upstairs you have a beautiful woman, and there’s no better counsel than a woman’s touch. Do what I did when I needed to heal. Go up there and allow her to fix you. Women have a way of making men forget their troubles. Shalee can soothe your pain, and you’ll feel better by morning.”

BJ pulled Sam close and gave him a hug. “You’ll be okay, son. You and I are going to be close. You’re starting to grow on me.”

Sam smiled and returned the embrace. “I could use a friend right now. Thanks, BJ. Maybe you’re not a pain in the ass after all.”

After a shared laugh, Sam entered the inn. As he did, every eye turned to watch him pass as he headed up the stairs. The news of his victory had already spread this far. Some looked at him in awe, others in disgust, but none dared to utter a word.

Sam took a deep breath as he stood in front of the door to his room. He turned the knob and entered. To his surprise, Shalee greeted him with open arms. She did not speak, nor did she try to make anything better.

As he walked across the room to greet her, another earthquake shook the village for nearly 18 breaths. After steadying himself, Sam’s demeanor changed. He temporarily forgot about his fight and pulled Kael from his sheath. He commanded the blade to speak. “Kael, tell me everything you know about the Crystal Moon and how it governs Grayham.”

Shalee watched in silence as the blade lifted from Sam’s hand and floated in front of the fighter. The pulsating light cast from the weapon created an eerie glow throughout the dimly lit room as Kael responded. “I know only that the Crystal Moon has lost its ability to govern the land masses of this world. There needs to be urgency in all that you do.

“Sam, you and BJ need to begin a tour of the arenas throughout the Kingdom of Brandor. You must fight your way to glory and use this fame to seek an audience with the king. You need power to solve a problem of this magnitude. The only way to stop the worlds from migrating is to find the pieces of the Crystal Moon. To do this, you must stand before the king and challenge him.”

“And, how does a man challenge a king?” Sam snapped.

As Kael lowered toward Sam’s hand, he simply responded, “We have discussed this already. You need to be a leader. A leader does not ask how ... he shows.”

Sam just stared at Kael’s hilt, speechless as the blade came to rest in his hand. After a long series of moments, he looked up to find Shalee’s eyes as the lantern that was resting on the table lit them.

Shalee could see Sam’s despair. She pulled him close and led him to the edge of the bed to take a seat. As she wiped the tears from his eyes, she said, “What are you going to do? Whatever it is, I’ll stand beside you ... no matter what.”

Sam reached up with his sleeve and wiped what was left of the moisture from his cheeks. After filling his chest with a much needed breath, he proclaimed. “I’m going to be the best. I’ll suffer the brutality of this world and see to it that every being on this world has a home. I won’t allow their lives to be taken from them the way ours has from us.”

As Sam continued, his eyes held Shalee’s with conviction. “They want an empire … I say we give them one. The two of us will show this world something they’ve never seen before. We will be the leaders they need.” A short silence passed and then Sam grumbled, “We just need to figure out how.”

Shalee’s smile widened. “Oh mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mmmmm, Mr. Sam Goodrich, you’re downright sexy when you talk powerful like that. You just turned this little Texan on. You can talk like that to me whenever you want.”

Shalee brushed her lips across Sam’s face. Her cheeks met his, and their warmth caused Sam to become excited. When she closed her mouth across the top of his ear and nibbled, that was all it took.

Sam took control and they loved the night away.





IT’S ANOTHER PEAK on Grayham, and the moments to shine have arrived. Sam is lying with Shalee’s head on his chest. The previous night was explosive and oh, so passionate. Shalee’s heart is filled with love.

BJ was right. Sam feels much better. The couple will snuggle a while longer before getting up.





THE BOOK OF IMMORTALITY is preparing the ceremony to honor Bassorine’s passing. The event will be held on top of the Falls of Faith where Bassorine used to sit when he wanted to think. Once the ceremony ends, the Collective will turn their attention to other matters, as if the late God of War never existed.





GEORGE, KEPLER, and KROGER kept their campfire going throughout the night. In an effort to help, the demon-jaguar offered to use his saliva on George’s leg. The cat’s spit has healing properties and better yet, an instantaneous, soothing effect. The wounds on George’s leg have started to mend. The trio will go over the plan George made once more before entering the cave.





BJ and HELGA are meeting for breakfast to discuss Sam’s fight. As they talk, they find they have much in common. Although neither spoke of it, a romantic interest was kindled.





CELESTRIA is making the best of her stay with the witches on Luvelles. She is teaching them new potion recipes. She can’t believe this family calls themselves witches. They’re idiots, but the goddess knows they won’t draw attention to her baby after he’s born.





MOSLEY woke up inside his new home that Bassorine left behind. It’s perfect, and the wolf is admiring his new view. He’s standing on the porch of his new cabin, and he’s looking across the valleys as he takes a number of deep breaths of the brisk air high atop Catalyst Mountain.





LASIDIOUS is thinking through his plans for the near future. He misses Celestria. He knows the moment is approaching to step down as his team’s leader. This change is just one more piece of his master plan.

Thank you for reading this edition of the Grayham Inquirer





Bassorine’s Old Cabin Home

High Atop Catalyst Mountain on Ancients Sovereign