Warrior of None

Chapter 5: Runaway

Water dripped, tapping ancient stone. With all the water issues of the lower dungeons of Yenellii, Crocodile figured one might think that Perdi was as rainy as the isles of the Loshes. That, or some disturbed architect did their best to make the lower level as dismal as possible by biting into wet bedrock. A shiver ran down the Verdokian’s spine, he hated the dark and damp of the dungeons.

His clawed toes clicked against the floor as he walked, on either side of the hulking gladiator were rows of rusted cages, each stained prison either empty or holding some miserable fool. Out of all the prisoners who were squished into their tormented cell, only one was standing.

Crocodile’s voice called over the dripping water “Are you Phin?”

The old man crinkled a smile at Crocodile. He stood tall, despite the bruises of a beating still shining under his eye. His clothing was not much better, having been torn and shredded in some struggle or another. Lucky his scratchy braies kept his modesty, not that Crocodile hasn’t seen worse in Yenellii. “I suppose I am,” Phin answered.

“I’ve been looking for you for a bit now,” Crocodile lowered his shoulders, relaxing in front of his find. “I guess I wasn’t the only one.” Water dripped.

Phin’s smile spread into a toothy grin, and Crocodile couldn’t help but grin back. “I heard you caved some poor monkey’s face right in, dead on the spot,” Crocodile leaned close to the cage. “I wouldn’t guess by looking at you.”

“Sure did,” Phin answered, casually. “Self-defense, you see.”

“Right right,” Crocodile nodded. “How long do they have you here?” Water dripped.

“Two more days,” Phin shrugged. “Haven’t seen a guard yet, so if they extended it or shortened it, I have no idea.”

“You won’t,” Crocodile said. “The pit bosses don’t really care to feed prisoners. Either you hit your cell time, get sent to the arena as fodder fun, or get buried.”

“You speak with experience,” Phin laughed. His tone didn’t match the dismal nature of the cells, it was the tone of someone who had experienced plenty worse, someone who knew the comedy of mortality. Crocodile closed his eyes, he could respect that. “But,” Phin’s voice continued, pulling Crocodile back into the conversation, “I have a feeling you didn’t seek me out to give me advice.” Water dripped.

Crocodile flashed a toothy smile. “Right, I came looking for you as a favor to a friend.”

“What friend?”

“Beetle.”

Phin furrowed his brow, before coming to a slow understanding. “The blonde?”

“Yeah,” Crocodile said. “She said you might know some things that could help her out with her little problem.”

“I do and I’d be happy to share,” Phin tapped the iron bars of his cell. “In a couple days at least.”

Silence overtook the pair. Crocodile was staring at Phin. He seemed to be an alright sort, but something stuck out to the Verdokian, something unnatural. “Mind if I ask you my own question?”

Phin shrugged. “Go ahead.” Water dripped.

“Why bother helping her at all? That’s seriously suspicious behavior in a place like this.”

A wall bouncing laugh broke from Phin at that and all tension faded. The old man looked at Crocodile almost as if he was the crazy one. “I’m a geriatric oaf, a grandpa type if you will. Besides, she reminds me of my own child.”

Crocodile closed his eyes, soaking in the words. He scoffed. “I’ll never get used to you monkeys.” Water pattered, Phin’s eyes darted behind Crocodile.

With a sharp rasp, Crocodile’s curved sword came screaming out of its scabbard and the Verdokian spun on his heel. A man in a thick leather coat stood behind him, water pattering on his shoulder. He held a club stained rusty from various victims and to his left and to his right were other thugs, making three in total.

“What is this,” Crocodile growled.

Phin’s voice came in harsh. “Smash my cell lock, quick.”

Crocodile didn’t even turn away from his new enemies. His meaty tail slammed down against the cell and the rusted padlock sparked to the floor. At the display, one of the thugs took a step back. A low growl, or perhaps purr radiated from the Verdokian. “That’s right, stupid monkey, you’re fighting a crocodile.”

Phin stepped out of his cage and stood next to Crocodile, holding up his bare hands in some attempt to back up his new gladiator accomplice. The scene froze with both parties ready to spring, but neither side moved. A sinister laugh came from the Verdokian.

“Who moves first?”

“Rah!” A battle cry burst from the center thug and he closed the distance with a hefty swing. Crocodile easily ducked away from it, but another was already on its way. With his free arm, Crocodile knocked Phin away from the fight, content on keeping all his worries concerned about his own hide. The club came back around and the other thugs joined it with their own weapons.

The Verdokian’s blade crashed into the club, knocking it away with brute force before shredding down its length and biting into the arm of the thug. A hoarse cry of pain bounced off the walls, but Crocodile stepped into the cut and slammed his scaly forehead against the thug’s, crumpling the man to the floor. The cowardly thug from earlier turned from the fight, but as he presented his back, Crocodile thrust his blade under his back ribs, snagging the lung and with a twist and pull, sent the man to the floor in silence. Only the final thug behind the reptile was left.

Crocodile’s tail slapped, and with the crack of bone, the final body hit the stone. Water dripped.

“I’ll give Lord Gallo’s thugs one thing,” a stranger’s voice chimed in the distant shadows, “they were quick enough to beat me here.”

Crocodile’s eyes adjusted as the stranger stepped forward. He was short, maybe half of Crocodile’s height and a finger or two shy of Beetle, but that wasn’t the most striking feature of his; he was a frog-man. The stranger stood on two webbed feet and held a staff with similarly webbed fingers. The edges of the staff tapered to a thin-yet-blunt blade-like edge, giving the ends of the weapon a paddle-like appearance. While he stood like a man, his face was entirely that of a frog, save for wispy black strands of hair under his nose and chin. An old scar in the shape of a perfect circle marred his cheek and a wide-brimmed hat was tied to his back.

“An Aquatid,” Crocodile was frozen in surprise. His eyes scanned the staff in the frog’s hands, just now noticing the many notches along its length. “With a paddle-staff. A barkskin warrior?” The yellow eyes of the Verdokian lingered on the circle scar. “A disgraced barkskin warrior.”

“I won’t take lessons of grace from a Verdokian,” the Aquatid answered, spitting the word more than saying it. “Let alone a brood-lost Verdokian.”

Crocodile’s eyes rounded to yellow saucers. The very accusation riled an old anger in his gut. “Watch your tongue, frog.”

“Nearly half the notches on my staff were from Verdokians who hissed the same warning,” the Aquatid brandished his weapon. “But don’t worry, I already gave my word I wouldn’t kill you.”

Crocodile pointed his blade. “Name yourself and then let’s get this over with.”

“Gaju.”

“Easy, Crocodile,” Phin warned from behind. “Something’s off about this one.”

Before Crocodile could answer Phin, Gaju kicked from the ground, closing the distance. His paddlestaff swung wide. Crocodile dashed in, juking the strike. The other end of the staff came whirling in, but Crocodile clashed his blade against the aquatid’s weapon. Despite metal hitting wood, the specially hardened staff took nothing more than a knick before spinning into a new attack.

Crocodile ducked a swing just in time, pedaled out of the way of another. With a crash, the Verdokian backed into a cage, the occupant shooting up in surprise. Gritting his teeth, Crocodile collected a hit on his blade, then another. He was pinned down by the sheer volume of attacks. Wait, an opening!

The Verdokian’s tail snapped from behind, but the Aquatid saw it coming. The paddlestaff slammed into his exposed tail, sending a rush of pain up Crocodile’s spine along with a crunch of bone. With a wide fist, Crocodile countered with a swift jab to the face, knocking the aquatid back enough for his sword to swing.

Metal hissed through the air, creating a whirlwind of cutting strokes. The curved saber was in full force now. Step by step, Crocodile was pushing Gaju back. A bright light blasted from Gaju’s chest and golden ethereal ribbons snaked down his arms and up his weapon.

“Magic?” Crocodile swore.

Gaju’s paddlestaff struck out at sound snapping speed. Crocodile just barely managed to avoid the strike. With a scream, the enchanted staff ripped clean through the cell from earlier, cleaving the surprised occupant in half and back though the other side of the metal cage. Scarlet sprayed the walls and painted both fighters.

“I thought you weren’t going to kill me?” Crocodile growled.

Gaju laughed. “I am getting impatient.”

Crocodile clenched his jaw and struck out with his sword at full force. The aquatid quickly caught it against his staff, but Crocodile let go of the sword and ducked under the clash. WIth his full weight, the Verdokian tackled the Aquatid to the floor. Clawed hands gripped the frog’s neck and he began to squeeze. A warm pulse of life tickled his scaled palms as Gaju struggled. Gold ribbons bursted again down the aquatid’s arms and then with unexpected strength, far beyond the physical ability of the frog, the Aquatid’s elbow slammed into Crocodile’s wrist, snapping it.

“Grah!” Crocodile screamed in pain, but Gaju’s other hand came swinging in, and with a powerful snap to the side of his temple, Crocodile’s vision blurred. Another crack. Darkness.

***

Beetle stared at Chiara, wide-eyed. The woman was standing there, wiping the blood of Gallo from her knife. Both of them ignored the man on the ground, his throat slit and his body lifeless. Chiara was looking at Beetle as if her gaze would hold her still.

“Beetle.”

Beetle shook her head, voice light with surprise. “Rewe.”

Chiara spat. “Rewe. You need to stay calm and stay still, understand?”

Taking a step back, Beetle slowly shook her head. “No.”

“Don’t move,” Chiara warned. It was then that Beetle noticed the woman’s eyes flicker to the roof tops. Masked faces peered down, at least a dozen.

“Chiara,” Beetle took another step back. “Who are they?”

Lady Chiara was shaking her head, as if her denial would make Beetle forget, make Rewe forget. Chiara took a step towards her goal. Beetle’s eyes snapped back to her and then with a silent breath, Beetle dashed into the alleyway.

“Shit!” Chiara roared behind her. “I’ll get her,” she shouted to someone. “If he shows up, shoot to kill!” The rest of her orders blurred as wind picked up around Beetle’s ears and the alleyway swallowed her vision. Her legs were pumping, her heart racing, and her mind so saturated with questions it went blank.

As the warrior ran, her dress clumped around her knees, until finally frustration forced Beetle to rip it off over her head and toss it aside, content to sprint in her short-pants and leather vest. “Beetle!” Chiara’s voice was right behind her. She didn’t look, she didn’t want to know. Her legs pumped faster.

Beetle jumped over puddles and sprinted so fast her feet barely touched the cobblestone. As she passed a stack of wooden boxes, she threw them down. Chiara swore behind her and Beetle cut into a branching alley, before turning into another. The veritable web of buildings quickly turned to her advantage as she spun and wove through them, until she didn’t know where she was anymore relative to where she started, and Chiara’s footsteps were unheard. Remembering the eyes on the roof, Beetle caught sight of the closest door and pushed through.

With a heavy slam, the warrior closed the door behind her then looked inward to her new hideaway. Three sets of eyes were staring at her, blank and surprised. A man with grizzled hair stood over the shoulder of a woman of equal age. She wore a long braid that was streaked with silver. She was sitting at a lovely table with a young boy no older than ten. All three of them were in the middle of serving each other dinner. Beetle’s eyes were wider than theirs. She stood there, a madwoman in short-pants, a blood stained leather vest, and the smear of dirt. Her eyes dropped to the food on the table.

“It’s… bisque,” the woman said.