There were less than ten seconds left on the test clock, and though many hoped for Lirzod to display a knack for the narrow escape, they weren’t entirely sure of it happening. All those who knew Bruiser comprehended what was transpiring in the ring was not a joke.
As many eyes witnessed everything taking place in the ring, Bruiser endeavored to claw his way back and take the lead. Lirzod’s teeth, however, chewed into the tail and dragged the headband along its length, also bringing bits of flesh with it to the tail end before sputtering the flesh and the headband high into the air, thereby giving himself a victory that was three minutes in the making and also a license to move on to the next deck.
As the bloodied headband rose high into the air, the audiences were baby monkeys wondering at the soul of their late elder monkey climbing the skies, seemingly headed to the heavens, for they gawked at the headband with their uvulas exposed—so much that they ran the risk of bringing out their hearts into the open.
“W-We’ve won! We’ve won!”
“Good heavens! Bruiser’s streak has ended!”
“I can’t believe it!”
“But the key to this victory is our belief itself!”
“I’m rich now!”
“It’s better to be poor on land than rich at sea. I’m going to go back home with this profit!”
“I won’t have to worry about buying hot bread now that I won about three silver!”
“All praise Lord Lirzod.”
“Yeah! May Lord Lirzod get all the luck in the world.”
“Hail to the Bruiser conqueror.”
“Hail Lord Lirzod.”
Given how Lirzod’s victory came on the heels of several wins that had resulted in heavy losses for the bettors, jouissance oversaturated the hearts of men—in particular of those who had bet in Lirzod’s favor—and spread glee through the blood. Some saw the test as the dethronement of a tyrannical king, but a few wondered as if this test was a tale of two kings wrapped into one.
Beating a cat was one thing, but biting a cat was an unpopular thing to do on the twelfth deck, yet none seem to have cared, for they were all bathing in the burgeoning bliss of triumph.
Meanwhile, like a frog that knew not of its own suicide-in-progress through gradual stewing, Jehez froze into a frog-still as regret tumefied his face a bit too much to let his mouth utter double meows and signal the end of the deck test. Nevertheless, none of the audiences, at the moment, was really in a mood to give a damn or two about such a hackneyed course of action, even though it was an enforced rule; however, they were all in the mood to do something else, something they’d give all their damns about, which was collecting their individual profits.
Without a wait, the throngs of starry-eyed bettors made a beeline to the betting counter where Jehez stood, appearing utterly despondent. Having so many men storm toward him at once was something he had gotten fully used to, but now, in his eyes, each of those men in the line appeared worse than blood-sucking leeches, for he had to prepare much more than just ears to bear whatever that would be coming out of their mouths.
Only the great referees that had their names etched on the walls of a Hall of Honor were capable of surfing through the vocal tides of audiences more often than not, for they knew the ways of the words. Jehez, however, lacked any such flair, especially right after a test that not only cost him coins worth in gold, but also peace possibly worth much more.
“Hey, sweetie, how’s your heart?” the first one in the line, a tall and bulky man with a big beard, shot an arrow through Jehez’s heart with his way of words. Even though Jehez had been preparing himself, he suffered as a whirling arrow wounded his heart.
“Don’t worry, sir. It’ll only age a year for every lost bet,” another man in the line sarcastically said, further deepening the puncturing of the referee's heart.
“We hope the deficit won’t bring about a death toll tonight.”
“I hate your loss with all my heart, but I still gotta collect my profits, or my heart would end up hating itself. At least, please do take inspiration from this loss, sir.”
As the voluble yet ribald voices of men racked his heart, Jehez doctored his expressions, from within, and pulled off a poker face, albeit with an unsmiling, pressing effort. After checking the token number, he dropped eighteen copper coins in the hands of the first guy without even looking.
”What’s with that attitude, sweetie?” the first guy in the line said in a teasing tone. “You gotta give them some love and attention.”
“Yeah, where’s the love?” some other men in the line backed the first guy.
“Show us some love, sweetie.”
Jehez gnashed his teeth in utter frustration.
“Hey, look, sir’s face is already changing color,” another man innocently said, “I guess we don’t need to cook long enough to see some brown show up on the face.”
“Pfft! Puhahaha.” Many men laughed till their stomachs twitched.
At this point, Jehez’s intestines had long turned super-sour from shame, and he could only hide so much of it. After all, the loss, as he’d feared, was now surely turning into something more than just the sum of its parts.
Not everyone in the line participated in cooking Jehez's pride and confidence, but nearly all of them enjoyed watching his face change colors and bring about the ugly shades.
In the meantime, Lirzod stepped out of the ring and let go of Bruiser, who then ran away no differently than a rat that lost its tail. Meowing aggressively, Bruiser jumped on everyone’s ass he came across, scaring the people into skedaddling away in separate ways. His claws tore through their clothes and cut through their skins at places they couldn’t directly see with their own eyes.
“Shit! The loss broke his nous! Everyone, run! Run for your skin!”
“This thing is known for clawing its way through the reptiles on the thirteenth deck. If you are caught, you’re doomed.”
Though most of the line at the betting counter was still intact, some feared Bruiser coming in their direction and chose to run away. In a matter of seconds, most men in the hall were thrown into chaos. Some lost their nerves and let Bruiser have his way—gifting men with several scars. One such luckless soul, the plump-lipped man, hit his ankles and fell to the ground. The sound of impact caught Bruiser’s attention. He raced straight to him in long strides.
“No,” the plump-lipped man shouted, but Bruiser’s claw slashed through his lips and shut him up. It was then the plump-lipped man fully understood the definition of savageness and that the savagery of Bruiser wouldn’t spare anyone, including him.
Lirzod, who was all eyes this whole time, was a bit disappointed with Bruiser’s actions. “I hoped my bite would give it some sense of right and wrong, but it actually ended up worsening it.”
“Lord Lirzod! Lord Lirzod!” some people still kept shouting his name.
“Stop calling me a lord,” Lirzod opined. “I’m neither old nor deserving of such a title.”
Sariyu walked up to him, running a hand through her hair which made her look somewhat sultry, “I thought you were a goner, but you hung in there. I guess, even for you, victory is never out of reach until the last moment.”
“Of course. I wasn’t playing around, you know." Lirzod gave a half-smile as he bore the escalating burning coming out of the dozens of scratches the battle left him with. "That cat meant business.”
“It’s your fault for choosing such a cat," she stuck her nose in the air, "Why didn’t you use the rattail?”
“Uh," Lirzod sighed, "it’s a long story.”
“Then make it short.”
“Oh, wait, it’s a short story.”
Sariyu narrowed her eyes. "Then make it shorter."
"Okay, it's a shorter story."
In a flash, Sariyu pinched him on his forehead, making him utter an ouch and pull his hand back. “Don’t use your stupid-smarts on me.” She went for his other arm again.
“Ow, ow,” Lirzod almost sprang on his feet and took a step back. “If I had your pinching skills, I might have done better in the ring.” He looked a bit downhearted.
“Better? You’ve won, idiot," she crossed her arms across her chest. "You should be happier. Gain some glow in your face.”
“I know, but the test gave me plenty of scars,” Lirzod sulked, “though some of them aren’t throbbing as much as they did a minute back.”
“What are you talking about?" Sariyu gave his wounds a once-over. When she poked his forearms with her forefingers, blood leaked out at different spots, surprising her a little. After all, there were so many tiny dots on his forearm, and when she applied pressure, blood came out of them. "It didn’t look that bad from afar, but from here, it looks somewhat bad. I don’t know how much they are hurting, but don’t move around for a few minutes, at least not until all those wounds close. So, you shouldn’t worry too much. Surely, they aren’t petty, but time can easily heal these scars.”
“Yeah, I guess you are right," he hesitatingly nodded, "but... it doesn’t sound all that reassuring when it comes out through the mouth of someone who dances on toes from a minor scratch.”
“Hmph, I would make do with whatever I’ve got," Sariyu poked her tongue into the cheek, "You are the one not doing that. You’ve not put the rattail to use and made yourself an enemy out of the cat.”
“I didn’t think the cat would come after me right away,” Lirzod said, his face paling slightly. “Because of that, I had no other choice. I couldn’t even sing the song that I have prepared for the cat.”
“Song?" Sariyu made strong eye contact. "What song?”
“Ahem,” Lirzod cleared his throat, making Sariyu think ‘oh, no,’ but she wasn’t ready to close her eyes and then came in Lirzod’s way of words. “Aye! Aye! Move your feet! Come to me, or go for a pee. O, pretty kitty.” After finishing it, Lirzod's chest puffed up a bit. “How was it? I wished to interact with the cat using that.” Sadness crept over his face and shrank his chest, “Now we’ll never know what the cat would’ve done. Maybe it would've gone out of the ring for a pee, or maybe—”
“Would have hanged itself,” Sariyu muttered under her breath, “that’s what it would have done.”
“Did you say something?”
“Ah, I was wondering whether or not Primera would have been proud of you if she were to be here.”
“Oh, that’s nice of you, but it's all right," Lirzod's complexion turned ruddy. "We’ll sing to her multiple versions of this song when we get back home.”
Sariyu’s lips stretched into a smile while her eyes widened a bit. Do that, and her ears will bleed for sure. I already feel some itching in my ears. Poor me. Even though there was cotton in her purse, the damage to her ears was already done. “Still and all, you look satisfied enough from the victory.”
“Victory...” Lirzod paused a moment while tapping his finger on chin. “Wait, how much did you bet?“
“Two silver.”
“Oh, so, you’ll be getting twenty silver now. Give me half of it.”
“What?” Sariyu was bewildered. “You've just won a fortune, and you want a split in mine, too?”
“Yep,” Lirzod quietly replied, “that rule is for all, you know.”
Sariyu clenched her fists. “You really are...”
“But you don’t need to give it to me. Just give it to the booth owner, Viktor. I think that’s his name.”
“To him?” Sariyu was puzzled, “For what?”
“He wanted to repair his face.”
"You mean 'heal his face,'" she was a bit surprised but also felt doubtful as she remembered Viktor's face, “Would ten silver be enough? That injury looked nasty.”
“If not, give him more.”
Sariyu ground her teeth. “I’m not a cloud of coins to constantly shower money on all the needy I come across." She controlled her urge from pinching Lirzod. "That said, if you want me to be one, then first be an ocean and offer some vapor to the cloud.”
"You want me to put some wealth in your hands, huh... Geez, you could have just said it straightforwardly." Lirzod paused for a moment before sniffling sadly, “Got it. Victory is sweetest not after the deft but diligent efforts. I was thinking of celebrating with you before the sweetness goes away, but you know, these deals don’t help the cause at all.”
“I’m not falling for that.” Sariyu snorted and stayed silent for a moment. “But it’s still a surprise seeing you think back of a sentence or two from school. I hope no tsunami sinks our ship.”
“Hehe,” Lirzod rubbed his nose, “what you’ve seen is nothing. I’ve barely scratched the surface of my remembrance. Wanna see more?”
“No thanks,” Sariyu lifted both of her palms and exposed them to him, “I don’t want to be swept under what comes next.”
“Haha… Mm?” Lirzod looked around for a few moments. “Where’s he?”
“He...” Sariyu realized that he was asking for Burton, but no more words came out of her mouth.
“He’s probably hiding somewhere nearby because his wish didn’t come true, and I won in the first attempt itself,” Lirzod said and laughed. “How cunning of him! He knew it was better to stay out of my sight for now.”
“Y-Yeah.”
“All right, let’s go and find out how much we’ve earned,” Lirzod said, trying to hold her hand, “when he’s back, we’ll count the coins before him.”
“It’s better to let him be,” Sariyu said, swiftly yet gently pushing his hand away. “He can be more of a bully than you can ever be.” As they both walked together, she glanced at him. "Putting Burton’s matter aside, I think I’ve told you numerous times already to not hold my hand just for the fun of it. I don't want people to think improperly about us."
"I still don't get why you make a big deal out of a simple holding of the hands," Lirzod harrumphed. "I wish Duera was here. She wouldn't ever sully my sentiments as you do."
"Mm, you are right," she gave him an icy glance. "Maybe I should tell her to treat you more impartially in the future."
"Hmph, why would she listen to you?"
"Did you forget that she answers to my house more than she does to yours?"
Lirzod shoulders slightly jerked, and he looked away. "I-I don't know what you're talking about."
Meanwhile, on the twentieth deck, inside the surveillance chamber, Gorka was watching the whole scene on a smokecast.
“Ow, those scratches must be burning like hell,” the buck-toothed boy felt bad for Lirzod. “If not treated, he’ll feel the burns for many moons.”
Gorka was observing Bruiser—who, at the moment, was mindlessly clawing at everything that moved—with a blank expression, and he squinted his eyes and noticed that Bruiser’s whiskers on one side of the mouth were missing in half. “Mm... so that's how it is.”
“What are you analyzing, sir?” the buck-toothed boy couldn’t help but inquire. “Is it about that scar-faced boy?”
“Well, yes...” Gorka placed his hands on his back and smiled at ease. “Every deck on this ship awaits for new blood to arise. It’s good that his potential, apparent then, is a bit clearer now.”
Chapter Length: 2600+ words
Daily Dose:
"Like every pot has a limit
So does every existing heart
As to the weight of emotions
It can carelessly contain.
So let not the pot overflow
Or the heart over bloats.
Do often share sums of it
With the hearts that lack it
Or you'll fail to handle
The hurdles God throws."
— In Limit, VKBoy.
Comments (0)