The week passed in a blood-soaked haze, chorused by screams, death rattles, and cheers of victory. 75 heads lined the ground in front of the porch like macabre jack-o-lanterns, all of them facing the last four combatants of the group. They stood equidistant from each other on the circular driveway, the crowd around them standing in silent ranks. This time there was no fidgeting, no murmuring. They'd all gained levels and had grown stronger, the standouts among them standing proudly at the front corner of each squad. There was one squad with that spot empty, and all four of the men cast furtive glances its way.
Gabriel studied the faces of the crowd. Some had vacant, shell-shocked expressions, others were dead behind the eyes - their minds not fully accepting everything they'd had to do to make it to this point. Not one of them had been spared the ordeal and all of them had contributed at least one head to the row.
Mason had come to witness this last exhibition match, his voice jubilant in the chilly morning air.
"Look at you fuckers! Bad asses, all of you! Now this is what I'm talking about! General!"
Tom strode briskly to stand in front of him, snapping a salute. "Sir!"
"What's with these four? They all look like good fighters, why are they up for the match?"
Tom smiled proudly, grating Gabriel. This had been his idea, but of course he wasn't allowed to take the credit. He'd put in a lot of work convincing these unlucky bastards to do this. He sighed internally. I guess the XP will have to be reward enough.
"These four champions all want the last squad leader position - they've decided to fight for it!"
"Oh ho!" Mason jumped from the stoop, clearing almost 20 feet before slamming hard onto the flagstones. He paced the circle, stopping in front of each man to look them up and down. Their backs straightened and their faces shone with determined pride. "You four got some balls on you!"
He bellowed to the crowd. "THIS is what I fucking wanted to see! This is some 300 shit right here! Fight for your life, take no survivors, and kill any motherfucker that wants what you have!"
Gabriel thought that the men couldn't stand any straighter, but they did exactly that. Mason continued, "Alright you glorious bastards, show us what you fucking got! General!"
"Sir!"
Mason started when he realized Tom was standing next to him. "Let's sweeten the pot. Whoever wins this fight not only gets to be a squad leader, they get to be… what's the next thing up from squad leader - but underneath you?"
"Platoon Sergeant, sir!"
"Yes! I like that! Platoon Sergeant then!" Cheers rang out across the grounds. Buoyed by their cheers Mason continued. "And they get a night in my harem!"
Cheers and hoots called even louder this time, although Gabriel did not miss the looks of anger and fear in many of the eyes. Oh that's right, a lot of them have wives, sisters, and daughters in there. Unlucky fucks. He chuckled to himself.
"Alright then, let's get this show started!" Mason trotted to the porch and sat himself on a high-backed chair he'd had brought out for this show.
General Tom issued a crisp salute, then did an about-face and strode to the middle of the group. "You all know the rules by now. You've each chosen a weapon and can use any skills or magic you have. Keep it to the ring, we don't need another Scott situation." Low laughs went through the crowd as they remembered poor, dumb Scott who always stood too close to the ring.
"Four men have entered, one man leaves - carrying three heads!"
The crowd cheered again, their bloodlust rising. Gabriel felt excitement stirring in him. These four had all reached level 10 and he expected a healthy amount of experience from the ones that fell.
Tom walked to stand slightly in front and to the side of Mason, who was already flanked by his Lieutenants. They were not taking any chances of a stray spell or unexpected attack coming his way.
For his part, Mason was unconcerned, throwing back bottles of beer and slapping the arm of his chair.
A hush fell over the crowd as Tom raised his arm, tension filling the space as spells formed, muscles tensed, and weapons were raised.
"BEGIN!"
The battle was studied chaos. At level 10 they all had some form of magic or a skill that assisted them in battle, but a week of training wasn't enough to overcome months of hiding away in houses, venturing out only to collect supplies. To call it a fight was generous - it was a rumble, a bar room brawl, a back alley knife fight. A fist rimmed in fire knocked the teeth out of one head while a sword shimmered and became two, slicing the arms off the unlucky victim. The first head rolled with a thumping beat across the stones, the crowd cheering. The next head came a minute later, malformed and dented in from a punch that ripped it straight from its neck.
The last two fighters faced each other, panting, arms hanging. The fights they'd been training in had been short affairs, bouts lasting no longer than minutes. Most people didn't realize the sheer amount of stamina it took to keep a fight going longer, and this group had been putting their points into Strength and Agility. They ended their fights quickly, which meant that after the long fight they'd just endured they were spent.
"Come on now boys, don't slack off now!"
They straightened some at Mason's call, leaden arms lifting their weapons for the last charge.
There was a penultimate moment of silence, then the sound of running feet and then a head, bouncing twice with the hollow thunk of skull hitting stone.
Mason jumped off the porch, fists pumping in the air. He jogged to the final fighter, a short, stocky man with arms almost as big as Mason's. His fists were covered in flames, the flickering light dancing over a pair of brass knuckles. He let the flame die out as Mason approached.
Mason grabbed his arm, lifting it into the air. "We have your champion and our first platoon sergeant! Fucking congrats dude!"
The man was on tip-toes, trying to keep his balance as Mason lifted his arm higher, but his face was all pride.
"What's your name, son?"
The man swallowed, clearing his throat of blood and phlegm. "Doug. Sir! Doug, sir."
Mason dropped his arm. "Doug? Fuck no, that's a middle aged dad's name. You need to pick something cooler."
Fear shown in his eyes for the first time, unable to tear his gaze away from Mason's intense stare. "Uh… uhm… Doug the Fire Fist?"
Mason threw his head back, roaring laughter. "I'm not going to have my sergeant being called Doug the Fister!"
"Fire Fister, sir."
Mason laughed again, clapping him on the back hard enough to send him sprawling. "Fuck that! Think of a better name. Another time! For now, rest up. Once you're ready go see General Tom - he'll escort you to the harem. It's all yours tonight, buddy."
Mason tromped back to the house, laughing to himself. "Doug the Fire Fister. That shit was hilarious."
Gabriel sat on the porch stairs, legs akimbo, arms hanging to his side. Exhaustion deadened his limbs and cast a fog over his brain. Damn, that shit was intense. What a fucking week. He'd gained another level with the death of the three today, but that didn't clear the bone-deep fatigue from a week with virtually no sleep. He'd 'ministered' to the groups throughout the nights and watched the fights in the days, catching an hour of sleep here and there when he could. He'd wanted to just lounge around the pool watching the harem swim or tan, but he couldn't afford to waste a single point of experience. These small fights were just sips compared to the levels he would gain once the growing militia was actually out fighting. He doubted he'd get any experience from the ones who died during training, since he was only motivating them to fight and die for a cause, but he considered it an investment worth his time. Something within him felt like his victims had to kill humans, or be killed by them. He didn't fully understand why, but it rang true whenever he pondered it. Maybe I focused a little too much on people killing each other.
He wondered if he'd have been better off growing his powers in a way that gave him experience for other things, like killing creatures or gaining levels. His made-up excuse about being a crypto motivational speaker had gotten him thinking, and he was beginning to realize that he'd shoehorned himself into a very specific way of gaining XP. The truth was that it had never even occurred to him to do anything differently, and now here he was - about to break into level 15 and well and truly set on his path. A part of him knew that he was only at the beginning of his journey and could start shaping it to be more broad, more versatile. His foundation was set but the evolutions that would carry him forward were still open and ripe with possibilities.
He sighed those thoughts away. That was just too much work. Besides, he reflected, he liked how his powers worked. He enjoyed the manipulation and control. He loved seeing how he could make a bunch of smug assholes dance to his beat. He'd always envisioned himself a puppet master, controlling the sheeple into doing his will, and now he could. Even if the possibilities were endless, the only thing he really wanted was to keep doing what he'd been doing, only more so. Visions of his future evolutions and what kinds of abilities it would give him over other people danced in his mind, excitement clearing away some of the fog.
"I'm going to go jerk off and sleep for fucking days," he said before standing up to trudge his way to his room.