The Bathrobe Knight: Volume 2 Read online

  “Congratulations, Sun Wukong’s Children!” the announcer said after less than a minute of fighting. The whole display was rather sad for the poor unmade boots, especially the way in which they were finished off with a staff crushing their skulls.

  I wonder how offended they would be if their bodies went towards making purses instead of boots? Darwin wondered as the corpses were dragged out of the arena to some unknown location in the back, or even worse, snakeskin underwear for some really gross, sweaty guy.

  “Next up: Kitchens, Darwin and Minx versus The Three Musketeers!” the announcer called as soon as the previous contestants were clear of the battleground.

  “We don’t have a team name?” Darwin asked as he made his way down.

  “I couldn’t think of a good one,” Kitchens shrugged.

  “Not even something random? Like Mixed Nuts? Buy two get one free? Fruit Ninjas? Five Dollar Footlongs?

  “Those all sound food-related . . . and you’re carrying spoons? Should we be concerned?”

  “I just haven’t eaten in a while.”

  “Do you need to log off between the matches and grab a quick snack?”

  “It wouldn’t help,” Darwin sighed. The idea of eating real life food like Doritos was appealing, but sadly impossible.

  “Ha, no ramen left over? I’ve been there. Rent is a pain sometimes,” Kitchens said, his insistence on a tank top instead of something more fashionable making much more sense now, not that Darwin had any room to judge.

  “Actually, what’s up with the tank top?” he said, questioning Kitchens’ Street Fighter-esque apparel.

  “Oh? It gets hot where I’m from. I find them comfortable,” he said and shrugged again as the three lined up across from The Three Musketeers, who turned out to just be three tiger-men of the Panthera Race in an all-blue armor set brandishing rapiers.

  “Hmm. Don’t you need real armor in case you get hit?”

  “I’ll worry about that when it happens.” His shrug was becoming trademarkable.

  “I guess that confidence is good news for me,” Darwin smiled. He couldn’t help but be curious about how good of a swordsman this Kitchens character actually was.

  “Nah, we’ve already gotten into the tournament. If you die, that’s your problem,” he laughed, pulling his katana out and holding it in front of him with both hands. He closed his eyes and grinned ear to ear. “Have fun.”

  The announcer backed up slowly from the ring and started counting down the fight. “Three, two, one, FIGHT!” she said, and before the word was even finished, one of the Musketeers lunged at Darwin with a rapier.

  Darwin backed up a step and parried the thrust with one of his Burriza’s as if he were trying to stop one of Alex’s attacks with his spoons. He then started to follow it up with a lunge of his own using his free weapon when he felt his heart start pounding again. Hunger, he cursed. His vision painted over with red for a minute. As the red tint faded, he found himself holding a tiger-man’s head--though not the one that was attacking him--in one hand and one of his blades in the other. Even though he had been the one to do it, he experienced the whole thing after the fact like a kid watching an old movie rather than actually living it himself.

  He had finished the lunge against the Panthera who had attacked him, nailing him square in the chest with one stab after another in rapid succession until the cavity was wide open. Then, he dashed at the remaining one who was fighting Minx. The tiger-man had been doing everything in his power just to stop Minx’s daggers when Darwin closed in on him. He raised his rapier up to stop the charge, ignoring Minx, who had taken a step back as Darwin narrowed the gap. When Darwin finally made contact, he angled both his swords and brought them down in a rapid parry combination, pulling with the opponent’s right blade just far enough with his own left-hand sword so that the follow up with his right blade could peal through the enemy’s arm, ripping the hand off and leaving it as an odd, twisted stump. Before the enemy could scream, Darwin dropped the Burriza’s Blade in his left hand, reached out and grabbed the tiger’s thick neck fur and severed his head with the remaining blade in his right, leaving him standing above a corpse holding a Panthera’s head in one hand and a blood-dripping sword in the other.

  “See Minx, fire. Not water,” Kitchens said in the distance as he sheathed his katana, his own opponent split in two from what looked like a single slash to the chest.

  Darwin knew he had gone a little further than was necessary. He had turned a simple competition into a crimson spectacle, but the Hunger was sated. The kills had given him the soul charges needed to satisfy the skill’s demand and restore the hit points it had taken away as well as remove the actual hunger pangs that came with it.

  Minx just stared at him for a moment, backing up slowly, “No, no, no . . . he’s just scary--scary scary!” she said.

  Minx wasn’t the only one either who thought that as the entire crowd, the same one that had cheered after the first fight, sat in silence staring at the dead Pantheras.

  “He’s not scary, Minx; he’s our friend,” Kitchens said as he walked up and patted her head. “Come on, let’s clear the zone so the next contestants can fight.”

  “Okay, but you sit next to him this time,” she said, nuzzling back into Kitchens’ hand as he patted her head. “His eyes are scary.”

  “Nonsense. He’s a nice guy who helped us get into the tournament. Be respectful.”

  When they sat down, Minx stayed quiet for a few minutes, and then halfway through match number four, she finally spoke. “Sorry for saying you are scary, mister.”

  “It’s fine. You’re not the only one to say that.” Darwin tried his best to play it off, but he wasn’t used to his own allies being afraid of him.

  “No, no, no, you’re good good. It’s just your eyes looked evil . . . like a devil’s! Like you were a demon without the wings, all fire-breathy and ‘rawr rawr,’” she said, holding up her hands and mimicking something between a dragon and Godzilla as she even mockingly pretended to breath fire. “Rawr rawr.”

  “Rawr rawr, ey?” Darwin chuckled, caught up in the kid’s silliness.

  “No, like this: RAWWWRRR,” she roared and went full-on T-Rex with her arms as she joked around, Kitchens and Darwin following the miniature dinosaur back to the stands.

  Before they knew it, the other fights were over and the announcer was already calling them back. “Next up: Kitchens, Darwin and Minx versus The Honey Badgers!”

  “That’s us. Let’s get ‘em,” Darwin said excitedly. The fighting was a nice relief from sitting awkwardly next to a girl who seemed to act more like a child than an experienced fighter.

  “Sure, sure, just try not to scare the little one again,” Kitchens said. His face was so flat that Darwin wasn’t sure if he was joking or warning.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  “That’s enough. Good luck,” he said, taking his position on the right side, leaving Minx between the two of them as they stood opposite The Honey Badgers.

  The Honey Badgers, a group that matched its name just fine, each pulled out shivs that were black and white, matching their own odd fur pattern. One of them even licked the blade creepily as he stared down his opponents.

  “Should I cut your head off, old man? Give the tiger-men peace?” the one across from Darwin taunted.

  Darwin didn’t even dignify it with a response as he pulled out his Burriza’s Blades. I’ve still got around eight minutes before Hunger interrupts me again, he noted, concerned that it might cause another problem with this fight as well. The passive skill, still new, was unpredictable enough that it did worry him. He knew that he had performed the fight perfectly, but the lack of control he had exhibited during the action was rather disconcerting. He didn’t want to be a bystander to a show that’s outcome could spell out his death.

  “What? Do I got you scared, old man?” the honey badger-esque man taunted again. “It’s okay. It’s not like I care. Honey Badger don’t ever care!”

&nb
sp; Did he just talk about himself in third person? Here I thought I was losing my sanity.

  “Three . . . Two . . . One . . . Fight!” the announcer yelled, prompting Darwin to dash in for a clean lunging slash, but as he did, the honey badger-man-thing backed up, dragging his dagger in a sweep against the ground to pull dirt into the air in an attempt to distract Darwin. Darwin, seeing the dirt in what felt like slow motion, pivoted right, dipped down and pulled his blade in an upward slash at the badger. The badger crossed both his daggers and caught the blade, causing Darwin to feel relieved. What’s the point of holding two blades if you only use them to accomplish one task? he thought as he stabbed his opponent, impaling the badger with his free Burriza’s Blade. As the badger, shocked from the hit, weakened his grip on the two daggers that held off Darwin’s upward slash, that blade joined Darwin’s first one in meeting the flesh of his foe. One down. Who’s left? he wondered, quickly turning to look at the two other fights. Kitchens was standing over his opponent with his arms folded. The badger was cut clean in half like the Panthera he had killed in the first round. Minx was still fending off the other Badger in what looked like a blurry flurry of fast daggers clanging against each other as the two fought as much with their knees and elbows as they did with their weapons. Darwin saw an opportunity and ran around, coming up behind the badger and putting both his blades through the fool’s exposed back. Two down and twenty more minutes for Hunger.

  “Mister! That’s not fair!” Minx shouted at Darwin as the pointy ends of his swords popped out of the Badger’s chest in the middle of her fight. “He was mine to kill!”

  “Oh, umm . . . Sorry?” Darwin wiped the blood off his blades.

  “Hmph. Well, as long as you understand,” she said, her arms crossed and face purposefully flat like Kitchens as she scrunched up her brow.

  “Alright, come on you two,” Kitchens said, walking up behind them and putting his hand back on the top of Minx’s head. He wasn’t much taller, barely six feet, but, for some reason as the two walked back to their spots in the stands, it just looked like the hand belonged on top of her head.

  “Umm . . . contestants, could you please stay in the Arena. We’re about to begin the final match of the section,” the announcer called as soon as Darwin took the first step up in the stands.

  “Oh, oh. yeah. There isn’t another match except our final one, is there?”

  “No. There is not,” one of the ‘Sun Wukong’s Children’ members said as he stood up from his seat.

  As they walked back towards the center of the dirt arena in awkward silence, the member who spoke earlier turned to Darwin and put forth an open hand. “May this battle bring us both honor,” he said, as Darwin took the invitation for a handshake.

  “Let’s both do our best,” he said, happy to see that one of his opponents at least wasn't a jerk.

  “Indeed,” he said, walking to the place opposite of Darwin. “Don’t disappoint me.”

  “Darwin.” Kitchens looked over at Darwin. “You’re fire. Your opponent is wind. Do not let his gusts blow you out.”

  Darwin had no idea what to do with that advice at all. I’m fire? He’s wind? What does that even mean? He looked curiously at the staff in front of him. Don’t let his gusts blow me out? That sounds very wrong.

  “Three . . . Two . . . One . . . FIGHT!” the announcer called out, starting the match. Whereas before each match had begun with lunges the second it commenced, this time the announcer’s starting cry was only followed by stillness.

  All six of the combatants eyeballed each other anxiously, none of them moving an inch, until finally Minx broke the standoff, screaming, “JABBERWOCKIES ARE NOT MEAN!” as she pulled out two shuriken and threw them at Darwin’s opponent.

  Darwin seized the opportunity, the opening that his opponent’s defense against the shuriken had left, and moved in as quickly as he could. Before he could get too close though, the monkey-man spun his staff at Darwin’s chest, forcing him to brace and shift right, only to be met by an oncoming tail that moved towards his legs.

  Darwin cut down at the oncoming tail, clipping part of the tip off, but in the process didn’t have a free hand to block the monkey’s free fist as it hit him square in the stomach and pushed Darwin back. Wind, ey? How does a fire beat wind? he thought, deciding to consider for a moment what Kitchens had said. Not letting him relax though, the monkey vaulted forward at Darwin, who had backed up a bit, planting his staff in the ground and using it to launch his body with both feet forward at Darwin. Darwin was about to plant in and try to block it, but figured he’d go against his nature and try something different: he jumped. To be exact, he jumped right before the impact in the direction the legs were going to push him, using both his arms to catch the armored shins without letting go of the blades as he was knocked to the right. It didn’t cut or hurt the Simian’s legs, but it left him sprawled out on the ground without his staff. The monkey, not expecting the outcome, scrambled for a moment towards the staff that had fallen away from him after the vaulted kick failed, but it was too late. Darwin rolled into him, blade first, right into his back. As he pulled the dripping edge from the monkey, Kitchens stood above him with a hand extended.

  “Fire must be careful to be fueled by the wind, lest the wind scatter it into nothing,” he said. Darwin looked over at the two other Simians, both dead, and smiled. They had won the first rounds.

  “Stabby stabby, dead dead! I killed one too!” Minx said happily as she joined the two of them. “Minx the Lynx knows the tricks for sticks!” she said, crouching into a boxing stance and stabbing the air with her daggers a few times.

  “That you do. Good job. Now, how ‘bout we all go get some tea while we wait for the semifinals?” Kitchens asked, patting Minx twice.

  “Tea sounds good,” Darwin admitted, following the two of them, “but shouldn’t we wait for the announcer to excuse us?”

  “Oh, her? No. It’s fine. She’ll be bringing us tea anyways. It’s part of the reason the entry fee is expensive.”

  “The entry fee was expensive?”

  “Yeah, it was at least twenty Gold,” Kitchens said, causing Darwin’s eyes to pop open.

  Twenty Gold is a lot? he thought, remembering that his count was likely well over tens of thousands by now from all the spears and weapons from farming the silver ore mine and the White-Wing corpses on the beach. “I’ll . . . I’ll reimburse you,” he said.

  “No, it’s fine. The prize is enough to cover your share of the entry fee and then some. We’re in your debt, not the other way around.”

  “Sounds good to me. Now, do they have crumpets to go with that tea?”

  “If you ask.”

  “Great, I’m going to need cookies too,” Darwin was still feeling the effects of a hunger that didn’t come with his Job Class as they walked back to their seats in the winning area.

  “Asking for cookies on the Internet? That’s a little cliche, Darwin, but we’ll get some.”

  “Nom nom nom.” Minx ate at an invisible cookie as the three sat down in their seats, happy with their win and ready to enjoy some tea and sweets. “Chocolate chip cookies are the best,” she said, smiling.

  Robert:

  Robert was guided around the corner of the house and across his own lawn by the bulky fellow who had only moments ago come knocking at his door. The entire situation should have been entirely circumspect, but Robert was only vaguely aware of small warning bells tinkling away in the back of his brain telling him that something was off. After all, the man had never even identified himself. He had simply indicated that Charles was waiting for him, and that was supposed to serve as enough information for Robert to follow along complacently without question. Robert accepted that he was scheduled to have a meeting with Charles. That much he knew and could expect. But after the strange outcome of the meeting that morning, which had concluded with Charles walking out and ending the discussion all together, Robert found himself on unsteady footing without the least idea what was go
ing on--a feeling he was becoming increasingly more familiar with these days. He had absolutely no idea what to expect from the meeting with Charles, but being surreptitiously escorted from his own home definitely wasn't something he ever could have imagined.

  A second man waited for them on the street, holding open the rear door to a black luxury car. Robert wasn't knowledgeable enough about high end models to place the vehicle outright, but he knew at first glance that it must have cost a pretty penny.

  "Good afternoon, sir," the man holding open the door greeted him with a small bow of his head as they approached. He was an older gentlemen, probably in truth only slightly older than Robert, but his moustache was more gray than black at this point in his life, and the little bit of close-cropped hair that was noticeable underneath the chauffeur's cap he wore seemed to be losing the same battle against time.

  "Good afternoon," Robert replied as he reached the vehicle. "Where exactly a--"

  "Right this way, if you please," the second man cut him off, and, with a wave of his hand, indicated that Robert should take a seat in the car.

  "But, I don't even--"

  "Sir," the man interjected again, "Dr. Charles is waiting." The way he responded couldn't exactly be called rude. Nevertheless, though his voice never changed tone, never fluctuated, it was clear that Robert wasn't going to get anywhere with him either. Something about the way in which he spoke indicated that Robert was expected to come along quietly and comply without being too inquisitive.

  "Yes, thank you." Robert chose to simply go along with it for now, despite the little alarms going off inside his head getting slightly louder.