Boss Wylde was spot on. It hadn't been enough. My cuts from Lennon were warm tingles. The side where my rib had been cracked was a dull ache. There was sure to be some bruises tonight on my leg and shoulders, nasty ones. Damage to my nose would take days to heal right. Sharp cries of pain echoed across my back. Blood flowed freely in a number of spots. Despite all that I still wanted, needed, to fight.

I paced around The Pit's floor. Unable to calm down. Back and forth in the middle of the room. Dirt swirled behind me, spinning in animalistic eddies. Every so often I rattled at the bars. Roy's family, Bottom Pit's security, filled up the cages and watched.

"Bring someone else!" I shouted.

"Not yet, John," Roy said.

"Now!"

"Not yet, John." His words were a bit more slurred.

"NOW DAMMIT!" The room vibrated but no one seemed to notice. Dirt thrashed into the ground on its own.

"He said not yet. Listen to the Chief." One of the younger ones said. I rushed at the smug brat and rattled the bars in front of him. He flinched.

Roy chuckled and said, "He's young."

"I'll be a man soon!" The brat responded. There were murmurs of disbelief from the other members of Roy's family.

"Perhaps. You may not live long enough." Roy answered.

Focusing was difficult. The pain was only barely overridden by the promise of pleasure. If I could fight someone else then everything would feel better.

Those side alcoves had been steadily disbursing. Even Kahina left me. I felt her footsteps travel across the floor. She'd been softly touching everything with a free hand. Trailing fingertips across walls, rails, even chairs. It helped to distract from the roller coaster of emotions. Kept me still for a moment.

Boss Wylde was somewhere just outside The Pit. I could feel her strutting. Feet propped up on heels that gave her another two inches in height. Others were with her. Their bodies displacing different amounts of air. Pressing weight onto the floor.

Barnie felt heavier than expected. Ted was a veritable giant. Steven, the tiniest weight of all, was in there somewhere. Even lighter than Boss Wylde.

"Fantastic show," She said and stepped into The Pit without hesitation. Completely ignoring the fact that everyone else had left me alone. Even Barnie and Ted were unwilling to step inside.

"Boss." Roy sounded respectfully irritated.

"No really. I didn't know our John here had it in him." Wylde said.

"Our first Champion, from the good old days. Beer and titties." Barnie piped up.

"Titties everywhere." Ted's smile was lethargic. My head throbbed. They were still talking and I couldn't quite focus on it. I nearly whimpered. Boss Wylde was strolling around me, inspecting.

"Fantastic. Gates’ debt with us has been more than settled. Right Barnie?" She was smug. Her words crawled across the nearly silent Pit grounds.

"Father." The younger bouncer spoke with nearly the same need I had. This was the same teen who had declared he would be a man soon.

"Soon." Roy responded.

"Right. Told you John here was the one to bet on." Barnie said. He cradled his shotgun idly.

"Bet on John." Ted stood over his shoulder with his chronic grin.

"Fantastic." Her words were starting to annoy me. I circled The Pit floor, testing the bars for escape. Boss Wylde watched, not in the least concerned. I wanted to punch her too. "Too bad, though. He has nothing left to pay you with, you see, Gates here was stupid and bet against you."

"Miss," Roy said.

"What is it, Roy?"

"This fight's not over. You need to leave." The head bouncer uttered.

Her confident stance shored up as she fought for height. Boss Wylde said, "You're telling me what to do?"

"Please. This is for us." Roy didn't seem like the type to defer to anyone.

There was a pause while the woman considered Roy’s words. I could tell part of her wanted to order him down. The other part of her realized that she was in a room with hulking men that were all itching for a fight.

It was fine. I wanted to fight them too. My side hurt. My head throbbed. There were scratches on my shoulders and face, and skin near both shoulders was riddled with tears and scrapes. My body surged with unbridled energy regardless. That overwhelming release of pleasure was just a few heated blows away. I needed the violent destruction. To keep rampaging until nothing stood before me. Until all threats had been removed.

More. Need more.

"Fine. I need to go escort our guests out. Clean up in here."

"We will," Roy said.

Boss Wylde left The Pit with a distinct clink of the metal gate. Steven was shoved out the door by Ted. Stupid fool kept trying to look past Ted and see what was going on. I could feel his featherweight body hopping and spinning around. Ted kept shoving him out of the room.

Small. Need to move on. To find Dangerous Mate. Kill the Thieving Tick. Recover what is mine.

My brain spun around, grasping at threads between the few objects I could access without a physical link. One moment my brain was flashing towards home. It was just inside my range. Another moment I was checking on Kahina. She sat in a limo, opposite Reginald, they were heated about something. I tried to reach Evan. The elf was beyond my reach.

Mental focus returned to The Pit. Snippets of other sense filled me in on the room. Metal was everywhere, nearly solid, packed. Dirt below went down for a few feet before ending in concrete. Each object carried a different impression. Some were light and grainy, or firm and heavy.

People always had strange energy outlines that were faintly visible through my other sight. Fog like patches that vibrated with possibility. I'd been using a combination of the two readings to survive the brawl earlier.

Strong. Bodies like iron. Unrestricted. Clothes light on their frames. Pulses steady.

The family around me was nearly solid. Their bodies held only one movement, one thought. To stand like silent sentinels. I spun around and tried to understand. It was hard to see them with my eyes. How many were there? Eight? Nine? Some looked a bit more worn. Faces more beaten. Different braids woven into the side of their hair. None of them had glasses on. None of them had shirts or other items. They stood like warriors waiting for a signal.

Roy was the most elaborate. It wasn't cornrows, not quite. It wasn't something spun from facial hair. They seemed to be knots on the sideburns and along the back. The longer I stared the more visible the decorations became. They weren't braids, it wasn't hair. There were excessive details for a knot of hair. Patterns flowed down their sides and across each chest in varying amounts. Other things slowly faded into sight on all of them. Things that had always been there but I was unaware of.

They were really tattoos. Inked markings reached across their shoulders. They shared the same core symbol on one pectoral. A family marking. The other chunks had to have meanings as well. They didn't seem like the type to get pictures of cats or children's feet. None of the senses picked up by my eyes or other sight had been hair at all. My brain felt like the world had played a trick on it.

"Attention!" Roy barked the word.

"Chief!" The rest of the family shouted back while growing even straighter. Their backs tensed like soldiers. These were fighters grown in The Pit. I grew nervous.

Hunters. Old ways. Father's memories warn of danger. Maybe. Ritual. Will listen. Will be ready.

It was a weird series of thoughts. I wanted to unravel the rest of it. What did the part about my father’s voice mean? I had never encountered anything like that before.

"Runts of the Last Tribe, tonight you may become men!" Roy's annunciation deteriorated at higher volumes.

Three of the younger ones shifted around eagerly. I turned slowly, unsure of what was happening. The voice in the back of my head was rambling and distrustful. It whispered of traitors and breakers. My mind seemed to be pulling at the knot around my memories in order to find something, like a child shuffling through cases of toys for a specific car.

The males around me were of all ages. I locked onto the oldest one for a moment then tried to understand what his body might say. He had short gray hair with faint yellow eyes. The skin was worn but covered in scars from blades of some sort.

He stood in a ready cage. Tall and proud, despite the weight of years. This oldest man was at least sixty, nearly ancient for a fighter. His body was covered in an excessive amount of tattoos. If anything, the tattoos made the scars stand out more. There was pride in both items.

"Long ago the First Tribe hunted the mountains. Wild, our ancestors against the elements." The words were marble-mouthed but strong and firm. This fighter’s voice belonged to an orator. "We were strong in those days. Strong but untested. Seeking true challenges."

I looked around again.

Roy was less damaged than the others. Either skill or brains kept him safe. I watched him next. In a situation like this, you lock onto the most dangerous threat. Roy was clearly in charge. The chief bouncer looked back at me, face passive. He didn't want to break the story.

"Word came from over the mountains. A great beast had claimed the pass between towns. It demanded tribute." The oldest one grunted then said, "and killed those who denied it."

Once again the feeling of deja vu struck me. Everything here had happened before, but the memory sat out of reach.

"The First Tribe went, not because we were asked, but for the challenge! The chance to test our mettle!" The youngest three were getting restless. Their stances slowly broke down as they shuffled in place. I could feel their movements against the dirt.

My noticing must have cued in Roy. He didn't break his gaze into The Pit’s center.

"Runts, stand tall! Do not disrespect the Tribe!" Roy shouted. They went ramrod straight in an instant. These runts looked like hulks but had the faces of battered teenagers.

The cages weren't opening. Being unable to see correctly, still feeling the edge of anger and happiness, feeling the anticipation of those around me, it all confused me. Our audience was gone along with Kahina. Barnie, Steven, all my original reasons for being here were absent. Yet, something important was happening.

The elder’s voice brought up inklings of the past from the recesses of my mind. I knew these words. The familiarity settled me.

"Five nights we hunted The Great Beast. Laying traps, poisoning livestock for its consumption. Our actions only served to enrage it! The Great Beast laid waste to the weakest of the First Tribe, to those who dared venture onto its mountain."

"They deserved it." Words came out of my mouth unbidden. There was an important thought in the back of my mind that I couldn't quite grasp.

"At last, we tracked the Great Beast to its lair. Our numbers culled. Those that had survived were our finest. They were the measure all future warriors would be held against."

"They were strong," I said. The feeling of other thoughts itched at my head. This wasn't the same as when I tracked things.

Roy was smiling.

"The war band's leader stepped into the mouth of the cave and shouted-" The oldest one spoke a cue for one of the other people waiting nearby.

"Fight me!" The bars in front of Roy's cage dropped and he stepped forward. He was proud, tall, and immense.

I stood in the center of the room. Oddly removed.

"You dare?" I asked.

"We are warriors of the Last Tribe, descendants of the First!" Roy protested.

"You are no warriors. You are children playing with sticks. You are no Sons of the Mountain." I snarled the worlds and once again dirt around me crashed unbidden. Where the hell had those words come from? Why did I say them? What were Sons of the Mountain?

"The First Tribe’s leader shouted back at The Great Beast. What right do you have to judge us so? We who have hunted you. Your hide will line our floors and adorn our armor." The old man took up the story once more.

Mirth threatened to override everything. I shook my head and tried not to laugh. Arrogant amusement tickled at the back of my mind.

"You truly wish to test yourselves?" I asked while feeling every ounce of arrogance the memory summoned up. This wasn't from my life, though, this was from before. It was something else that went deep to in my hazy past.

They roared in unison, pumping themselves up. I grinned.

"Step into my den, if you dare." My voice took on that strange echo of other, a dark tint that seemed to carry forth from the very ground itself. Like a subwoofer pressed into the dirt that vibrated everything.

"This is our arena, not yours, beast!" The youngest, the one who called Roy father. He was a disrespectful runt.

"It is mine by conquest." I pointed to the wall of Brawl champions. My handprint was up there first. It had been burned deeply into the wall, on a night much like this one.

If we had stepped away from the ritual neither Roy or Tal seemed upset by it. Instead, they stood quiet, watching.

"We will best you!" The cages on the younger threes’ bars dropped. They all stepped out in unison. Eager.

"Come then. Impress upon me your worth." I whispered. Again, my words seemed to come from everywhere. Dirt vibrated beneath my feet. The subdued feelings that had been under a spell broke loose.

This promised to be interesting and worthy of The Pit. We traded life for immortality. The thrill of danger was addicting. This fight was without fear, without gibbering madness I experienced before. Everything, since I stepped into Bottom Pit, had been building to this.

Mountain Runts are rigid. Stiff. Heavy. I watch. Eager. I wait.

The young ones held their hands in a funny way. Not a fist. Not an open hand. It was a halfway pose, almost martial. Their bodies stayed rigid without an ounce of flexibility to their movements. As if their next strike would shatter brick through force alone.

The floor was still rumbling. My stance dipped lower and made them seem even more hulking. They slowly circled to the sides. I marked one for watching but didn't attack. The other two would probably test me from odd angles. They were clear to my tactical senses at present. Their energies didn't proceed any of the movements as if there was no deliberate thought to each movement.

One shouts. Spirits blur. Bodies fly forward. Fast. Strong. First hit connects unexpectedly. Hurts.

It was hard to tell which one hit me. The half fist felt like a brick slamming into my head. These three were stronger than the vampire planting a fist into my stomach. My body was burning up with excitement. A rush of joy slid over my skin.

First few blows connect. Feel tips of pattern. Hunting party circles.

There was almost a cadence to their heavy strikes. A normal human would have been broken by this abuse. Each hit just fired me up more.

World thrums. Ground dances. Feet slam to dirt. Runts Punch. Kick. Grab. Pattern found. Like drums. Beating tempo. Three drums. They strike to the pulse of pounding hearts. I dodge. Weave between blows. Spin through.

I was moving like a meaty ballerina dodging swinging cannonballs. Each near miss kept me in one piece. It was healthier than taking more of those shots to the face. How long since I'd been able to fight like this? Years? Old memories were surfacing. Expectations. I'd suddenly halt and switch directions. Not fighting back. Not yet. I let the urge build and build.

I hated to restrain myself. When I did strike back it would be...

Glorious. Unable to wait. Stop. My foot stomps down. Ground cracks under pressure. Lash out at the first one. I yell with the strike. Hits runt in chest. My handprint burns into his skin with a flash of heat.

The other two stepped in and kept attacking. There was barely a pause in their actions. Only a slight change in cadence threw me off. It took time to try and absorb the new pattern. These two runts were clever enough to continue adjusting. They kept me away from the third one I had struck, which allowed him time to recover.

Drumbeats. Two pick up slack. Third weak. Uneven. Rushes wrong. Stumbles. Runts' arms swing through air. Bodies surge like wild rhinos. A thin layer of armor over iron muscle.

Soon all three were attacking again. Their attacks careened through the air with whistles. Tons of force sat behind each half hand. I broke out of a sloppy hold, avoided one lunging from behind, then barely managed to block my midsection with my lifted leg.

They kept me surrounded neatly. I would have been beaten soundly if it weren't for my advantages. Being able to feel their movements, being able to sense those blurs of decision and action, and years of experience all played a part it keeping me alive. Plus I knew this dance and their beat.

One of the runts swung a bit wilder. His body leaned further in with each blow. I feinted an attack in his direction. He nearly leapt in anticipation, then overreached with a shout of triumph. His attempt at capturing me failed. I ignored the weakness and let myself move.

Youngest Runt. His beat annoys. Distracts. Not in time. Ruins the dance. Will remove him. Will stop the grating feeling of Youngest Runt's yells.

They resumed the same familiar pattern as mental drumbeats rang forth. We could have been fighting in a campfire circle. The intervals they rotated through styles seemed predetermined. I could count the heartbeats until the new pacing started. Each pattern change brought a new rhythm to the thumping. Two of them tried to increase the tempo but were held back by the youngest.

Strike during a change. Aim for reckless one. Runt's heartbeat ahead. Side isn't guarded. Step in. Twist. Surge his body up and over. His side open to other Runt's punch. Cage broken. Step out of their circle. Break pattern more. Tear it apart. Shatter it. Runts' faces falter. Discipline wanes. Two less reckless ones try to recover. Fail. Third, weak link, goes on his own. Too weak.

"You are weak." My hand was at the youngest one's throat. I felt him squirm and a chill fought back. The runt’s face felt angry after my declaration.

His buddies rushed in and tried to recover their formation. I was too livid to play anymore. The third’s recklessness annoyed me. The pleasure I felt during the fight turned sour. This was fruitless. Their movements were extremely easy to fall into the pattern of, even if there were three of them. My face was welting up on one side and a shoulder was tender from multiple punches. The pain meant nothing.

I dove into their movements and danced between the punches. I heard nothing but the hum of the earth below and their beating hearts. Mentally there was nothing but the rush of their energy as it moved. Bitter tingles washed over me.

The connections as I fought back were unnoticed. Their movements fell apart increasingly. Runt number three tried to attack, tried to join in, but couldn't find a place in the broken beat. Soon three shattered males lay around me quietly clutching at wounded parts.

I was upset. Anger wasn't specific enough for the frustration coursing through me. Roy had promised to quell the fire burning inside and this fight had been a giant tease.

"This is nothing! You are weak!" I shouted at the fallen males. "You, you were the worst!" I pointed to the reckless younger one. "You held them back!"

"Is that your judgment then?" Roy was still in The Pit with us. Somehow he stayed out of the way. Not a hair on his head was out of place.

"Strength, yes, skills, yes, but coordination? No." I wanted to kick at them. Needed to do something. "The beat was wrong. Too slow. Faltered. Broken. Vibration wrong." My head started to throb again. My words were that of the other voice. I spoke like it, though.

The cone of vision I had been able to see out of was gone. It was just me and my other senses now. My blindness didn’t bother me as much as the trio's failure.

I swallowed back a lump in my throat and tried to gather some focus. It hurt. I wanted to scream at their failure. I wanted to tear down the walls of The Pit with my bare hands.

"This isn't enough, Roy!" I stomped around, ignoring the Runts trying to edge their way to the sides.

"Very well." Roy seemed disappointed, but it was hard to tell without seeing his face directly. "We will regain our honor."

"Chief?" The oldest one sounded hopeful.

"Yes, Tal, it'd be an honor to dance with you," Roy said.

"Thank you." Tal’s words were the hardest to understand. I could feel the crispness of his salted hair. Sensed a texture change where tattoos ranged across his chest and back. I felt grateful for the old man's presence and didn't know why.

"Brother," Roy said.

A third quietly stepped out. This was the same excited man who first greeted me inside Bottom Pit. His hair felt far longer than the others. His discipline was strange. He wasn't firm but felt more like water. The remaining few seemed disappointed. They stepped in also, but only to drag out the three I already defeated.

"Are you ready, John?" Roy asked.

I smiled, opened my arms wide and said, "Let’s do this."

The other two stepped around. It was the same as the first trio. Only these steps were firmer. I felt the drums tentatively do single taps in time with their footsteps. From one direction, then the other. I turned and felt them slide in behind me.

True Warriors. Tested. Hard to sense. Hard to touch. Disconcerting. Their energies stand still. Motionless.

Roy stepped in first. I dodged. He was using the same pattern his family did. The same cadence and attack style that I already experienced.

When the other two joined in the rhythm was quicker. Crisper. There were no wasted movements or extra beats. The change in speed and skill clear. I rolled with the attacks. Swung my arm back in blows that would have caught the prior three off guard. They dodged and moved right back into the same pattern. It went on for far longer than it should have.

The beats stopped and there was silence. Roy and the other three stepped back. They shuffled around again by walking calmly when I wasn't looking. I could barely feel their movements. My bitter feelings of disgust had slowly ebbed away. Once more I felt the beat start.

Mountain Elder moves first. Body solid. Block a blow of iron bars. A kick smashes from behind. My body twists. Turns. Retaliates. They expect my movements. Know my pulse better than I. Their feet barely touch the ground.

My throat was in pain, a bulging pressure welled up. Muscles in my neck and shoulders were incredibly tense. I felt like an animal being shoved into a corner and nothing was pleasant. A niggling sensation tried to surface in my memories. Beneath that was a fear, that these warriors might truly kill me. It was from an old memory that crawled all the way back to childhood.

The beat paused again and they stepped back. My eyes were barely open. Each time they halted the feeling of frustration crept back. I was being teased to the point of irritation.

Beat starts again. Feet shuffle. Complex pattern. Three warriors rush. Faster than before. Than ever. Dodge. Try to move. Arms block. Legs dance out of their way. Patterns long unused. Sloppy. Forgot too much. Regret.

I should have been amazed that I wasn't trying to brute force my way through. I should have been amazed at keeping up like this, but I wasn't. Their movements were something I didn't remember yet knew in some way each pattern used previously was understood. Dead memories were being pulled to the surface by fear and anger.

The motions drug on. My body had barely moved from a six-foot range. Either the trio was trapping me in this area or I didn't feel the need to move. Maybe both. Abruptly the dance stopped a third time.

I took a breath and tried to figure out what was going on and understand what I was doing, or how. This kind of movement would have made fighting anything easier. Why was it just coming back to me now? Was it this place? Was it the drinks? Were my memories coming back?

They all strike. The beats almost absent. A stuttering pattern. Confuses timing. Throws off movements. I dodge into a punch. Hurts. Angry.

I tried to clear out the uncomfortable feeling. Tried to focus on anything. My eyes were open and useless. Everything was spinning. It was impossible to catch up with the rhythm now.

The attackers didn't wait. Didn't let me breathe. They didn't let me out. It only got worse. I tried to strike back but my blows were brushed aside. Roy and his family were delivering a sound thrashing. One I deserved.

The beating made me mad. Roy pinned me down to the ground in nearly a reversal of what I did to his son. Both the chief bouncer’s arms locked across my throat. I tried to buck out but could feel where the other two had my legs and feet captured.

Their arms refused to budge. Even with my extra strength, even with my senses, Roy was too much to fight. I struggled and flailed. I tried to put my arms out for his face and kick his crotch. Anything that would help failed. One on one, perhaps I might have won. Their group was stronger than the Runts had been, far stronger. They knew each other in the way only seasoned warriors knew each other.

"Let it all out, John." Roy's voice was calm and unbroken.

"Let it all out." The elder, Tal, said. His arms bound around mine.

"Let it all out." Roy's brother said. His words far more garbled. He was breathing heavy.

There was no winning against this group and no point in struggling, but I had to fight. The creature I been and still was at the core wouldn't accept another defeat. Not after the losses I had. Not after Julianne, after Kahina. Not here in my territory. This place was mine by conquest.

My throat burned while I gave a broken and bloody smile. My face throbbed. Everything hurt and I was going under. Consciousness was nearly gone and with it, I might lose the mental restraints keeping me in check.

I shook again and tried to break loose. One arm yanked, pulled, and failed to successfully gain permanent freedom. An arm slipped for a brief moment before they clamped down again.

"Let it all out," Roy spoke. The other two echoed his words. Dozens of other voices outside The Pit chanted. I couldn't tell who. Roy's family. Maybe. Not just marble-mouthed men either. I heard the hint of female tones.

Will rend. Will tear. Burn. Humiliation, intolerable. Make them pay. May them pay. Suffer.

The frustration was getting worse. Being tied down and unable to do anything made me panic. My thoughts were anything but friendly. Still, my submerged personality seemed confused. Like a puppy snarling at an empty darkness.

"Let it all out."

I shook and vibrated. My body was trying to tear itself apart. The rush of freedom was tantalizing. I couldn't see and couldn't hear anymore. Everything that was happening went through my other senses.

"Let it all out, John." Roy was pleading. It wasn't in the tone of his voice. It wasn't in his stance. It was the curve of his eyes. The way the skin around his damaged face had a downward tilt to it.

"Let it all out." They were nearly speaking as one. Only the fact that many voices were saying the words let me hear it past my own heartbeat. The pulse in my ears was getting overwhelming.

My mouth opened in a silent scream. The growing pressure in my throat became unrestrained. Muscles around my mouth stretched to impossible lengths and teeth felt sharper. I couldn't hear Roy or his family anymore, but their words vibrated through my core.

I did what they said.

God help me, I let it all go. All the anger at the Order and losing Julianne right in front of me. The brief bouts of pleasure at each fight I had participated in since leaving Kahina. The frustration of seeing her with another man. My deep nagging sense of failure over so many things.

I gave voice to those emotions. From the depths of my lungs, something welled up. Something immense, uncontrolled, and ancient. It seared a path up my throat and leapt out. Fire spiraled outward and engulfed The Pit.

Shortly after I collapsed.