The Champion

The snow started to swirl around in flurries, as Jaxon walked down the abandoned street. His breath clouded into puffs of white smoke. Adventure hung in the air, and Jaxon was out to embrace it. His violin case tapped his leg with each step he took, creating a rhythm that soothed the nerves that were bubbling up in his stomach. He shouldn’t be nervous. And he knows that. He’s done it many times before. But never against a champion. The champion. Besides, like his mother always said, some nerves are good. Jaxon definitely hoped so. A few moments later, he arrived. He knocked on the rusty metal door in front of him. It was opened by a man whose tattoos covered him like clothes. He looked like he was about to tell Jaxon to leave, but then he recognized Jaxon’s face. And his violin case. He stepped to the side and let Jaxon pass. Jaxon was covered in a sheen of white powder, and once inside, he shook and stomped it off. It wasn’t much warmer inside, but Jaxon didn’t mind. The cold helped keep his mind sharp. He trudged down the long passage with peeling paint and browning walls and into the next room. As he opened the door, a wall of sound hit him, yet he walked past it unfazed. He was here to win.

“Hey, look. If it isn’t the man who thinks he can beat Brass. No chance. Brass is unbeatable. Never lost one. And never will.” “Hans, shut up. Jaxon has obviously not lost a match either. He wouldn’t be here if he did. My money’s riding on him.” “I did say I wasn’t going to bet another one, but here we go. Five hundred quid?” “Six.” “Six it is. I swear this habit of mine is going to the end of me.”

The familiar smell of body odor and alcohol prickled his nose this time, maybe due to the adrenaline that was building up and threatening to overtake him. He put down his violin case on the bench and grinned lightly to himself. It had been his father’s idea to carry it in a violin case. No one would really stop a man on the street to check a violin case. He clicked the clips and opened the case.

Nestled among his combat gear, lay a long slender object. Jaxon grabbed the one end and picked it up. He slid the other side off to reveal a glinting silver double-edged sword. The pommel was polished to a shine, by Jaxon, in contrast to the well-worn grip. He caressed the blade, thrills running through his body at the thought of the upcoming fight. “Ready for a trip to the hospital ……?” Jaxon brushed his fingers over the hilt of the sword. “Taunting me won’t help you when you beg for mercy at my feet, Brass.” Brass answered “I wouldn’t be so sure. You haven’t been in the game long enough. Challenging the champion was a stupid move.” Jaxon heard Brass move away and glanced at him. The man was made of muscle. And known for killing his opponents, ‘accidentally’. A walking tower bent on destroying everything he touches. The nerves bubbled up in Jaxon’s stomach. He swallowed them again.

“Look at how nervous he is. Steve, you picked a losing side. Six hundred will soon be mine.” “I wouldn’t be so sure. Jaxon has speed and skill rather than brute strength. You’ll see.” “Brass wouldn’t have made it this far if he only relied on brute strength.” “Whatever you say Hans. Whatever you say.”

A few moments later, both men were geared up and ready. Adrenaline took over as Jaxon stepped into the ring. His vision sharpened and his heart picked up speed. The rules of the game were simple. Sword combat till near death. It used to be kill or be killed, but the bodies were too hard to dispose of. Taking the defeated to a hospital was easier. Then the defeated would have to deal with the questions. And rule number one. Never talk about what happens in this room. Then you really would be dead. The police know about the fights. It’s impossible to miss. But they don’t know where and who until someone else shows up in a hospital bed with multiple ‘knife’ wounds. Once you end up in the hospital, it’s over for you. You’re on the police radar then. You can never turn back. And if you tell, your body really will be disposed of. Which is why losing isn’t an option. The bouncer stepped into the middle of the ring and raised his hand. “So kind of you all to join us. I assume all bets have been made?” A murmur of yes’ rippled through the anticipating crowd. “Swordsman ready?” Both Brass and Jaxon took to their stances. Jaxon swore his heart was audible to the spectators. He was prepared. He had trained. He knew Brass’s tactics, how he blocks, how he attacks. But he also knew Brass knew his own. The bouncer threw his hand down yelling “Fight!” Brass tried the surprise tactic and as soon as the fight had started expertly swung his sword at Jaxon. Jaxon dodged it. He countered the attack. Brass blocked it. And they were off. The world faded and it was just Jaxon and his opponent. It was a constant flurry of swords, most of which were instinctual from the hours and hours of practice that lead up to this very moment.

“Jaxon’s got good technique, watch his sword movements, precise and wasting no opportunities or energy. Brass is using too much force.” “Force can be useful in sword fightin—oooo ouch. See what I mean?”

Jaxon’s arm stung. Brass had parried his attack and forcefully slapped Jaxon’s sword hard to the left, cutting back as Jaxon was flung around. But Jaxon’s plan was still on track. He parried two blows and took a counterattack, the tip millimeters away from Brass’s chest. The next attack he dodged and ducked under Brass’s arm, using the man’s weight against him. He only managed to stab him in the back of the knee before another attack. The wound on his arm was only skin deep. Brass’s was deeper.

“Good technique always prevails.” “Shut up. He’s had worse than a leg wound before.”

Metal clanged as sword hit sword. Jaxon edged forward and Brass limped backward, his performance hardly changed by his bleeding leg. Jaxon was carrying out his plan. He was pushing Brass backwards until Brass came to a standstill with his back to the edge of the ring. Brass parried Jaxon’s blow out of the way and lunged forward. The world stood still for a moment before the crowd cheered.

“I told you.” “It’s not over yet.”

Jaxon had anticipated the lunge, had slid sideways, and brought his sword down, cutting a deep gash on Brass’s arm before Brass could react. Brass swung wildly at Jaxon with his injured arm and before Jaxon could fully move out of reach, Brass’s sword tip caught his cheek. His face stung and his eyes watered. He took a step back to wipe his face with the back of his hand. It gave Brass a moment to recover and soon he was standing facing Jaxon again clutching his arm. Blood trickled through his fingers. Soon they were off again, and Jaxon’s energy was diminishing. Their swords flew through the air striking and clashing again and again and again. When the game had started their swords were a blur, now, the movements were visible.

The audience held its breath in anticipation. The end of the fight was drawing near. They could feel it.

Brass parried Jaxon’s attack and sliced forward, catching Jaxon on the chest. Jaxon swung and slammed Brass’s sword up, the pain renewing his energy. He swung his sword across coming back from the parry, catching Brass’s other arm on the inside. Adrenaline coursed through him, as he stabbed forward, his blade travelling through Brass’s shoulder with surprising ease. He yanked it back, ready to defend himself again.

“GET UP BRASS! GET UP!” “Oh come-on. You know Jaxon has already won, don’t you?”

While Brass was still recovering, Jaxon took the opportunity and kicked Brass in the chest. He was fully on the ground now, and Jaxon went up to him, still wary. Brass looked pale. Suddenly the action started again. Brass sliced Jaxon's heel and Jaxon fell to the ground. Brass rolled to a standing position, but before he could do anything, Jaxon kicked him in the knee. He fell back. Jaxon got to his knees and before Brass could raise his sword, jabbed his sword into Brass’s other shoulder and for good measure, stabbed his sword into Brass’s dominant arm, before hitting him with the hilt of the sword in the face.

“GO JAXON! What did I say? I told you, didn’t I? Skill beats brute force.” “Shut up. Steve. You’ll get your six hundred.”

Brass was semi-conscious, and the bouncer stepped into the ring. He inspected Brass before raising Jaxon’s arm in victory. “We have a winner! Pay up people, pay up. Medics get in here.”

Jaxon felt pride flood through him. He had won. He had beat the champion. He was the champion.