Chapter 19: Handicap

"Another three way match!" Alger sat forward in his seat, watching gleefully. "Three more contestants who have begun to prove themselves... fight!"

Rick's vision was blurring horribly and his body felt like it would shrivel up at any moment. The announcement was actually his first indication that he was only fighting two other people, since it was hard to focus on those in the arena versus those watching.

Then one of them burst into flame. Okay, he was easy to see. Rick slumped backwards as fireballs started flying, managing to avoid the initial burst.

It would have made sense to close the distance and attack the burning opponent, but the dizziness made even walking difficult. His hope of the other two fighting each other was dashed as well when he felt someone else rushing at him. Focusing, he could barely see that it was a middle-aged woman in a track suit, moving pretty fast directly for him.

If he was going to make it through, he needed to finish the match quickly. She opened with a kick that had a fair amount of lucrim behind it, but he managed to dodge aside. Another kick came immediately after, but he pulled himself together, deflected it, and then slammed an elbow into her face.

Except she caught the blow.

Normally he would have reacted in time to evade, but disoriented as he was, he ended up taking a kick to the chest. Rick staggered back, his defensive core preventing serious injury but not blocking the pain as it normally should. Worse, she lifted her leg, aiming to bring it down on his head.

Fighting through his symptoms, Rick dodged the downwards kick and struck back. She deflected his next blow and returned it with one of her own. As they traded blows, Rick realized that she was not only stronger than him, she was probably more skilled. Some type of kickboxing style reserving her hands for defense.

Direct physical contact was a mistake, then, but he didn't have the time or mental capacity to come up with a better plan. The ring just kept spinning around him and the strength he should have had simply refused to come. He mentally cursed Granny Whitney for putting him in this situation, then realized that he was overreaching and was going to take a vicious kick.

He was saved by an onslaught of flames from the third fighter. They definitely hurt, but he was able to tank them, while the woman had evaded backward. That gave him a few moments of freedom, which he used to stagger clear. Given how his condition was worsening, if anything, this might be his only chance to turn the tide of the fight.

Forcing himself to focus through the haze, Rick ducked beneath another burst of flame and sprinted toward the burning opponent. Another bolt shot directly at his face and he had no time to think, just smashed his hand at it. Though it singed painfully, he managed to deflect it and came into range.

Punching the flaming aura hurt like hell, but he felt his opponent stagger backward. Rick knew he should take advantage of that and follow up, yet he felt as though he'd used up everything in that charge.

When his opponent restored his flames, Rick realized that he needed to return to defense. The flaming man spun in a low kick that released a swath of flame across the ground. All Rick could manage to do was jump straight up, avoiding the flames but leaving himself vulnerable to a direct strike.

Or the woman grabbing his ankle while he was still in midair.

She swung his body directly into the flaming man, sending both of them smashing over the ground and into the chain link fence. It was the most Rick could do to hold back the flames threatening to scorch him, then slowly push himself back to his feet.

After that, it was only a matter of time. He refused to give up or fall easily, but he didn't have the strength to land any attacks, so he quickly wore himself down. Over time he managed to regain some focus despite the dizzying haze around him and his overall weakness, but it wasn't enough.

Blow by blow, flame by flame, he eventually dropped. Rick was lying on the ground wishing he was dead when he finally heard the bell marking the end of the match.

Someone pulled him from the arena and gave him basic medical treatment. He drifted in and out of consciousness for a while, then gradually returned. Strangely, though his bruises and burns ached when he sat up, he felt less horrible than he should have. The strength that had been taken from him was flowing again, leaving him in decent condition.

With no other options, Rick pulled out his phone to check the results.

[Match Performance:

Participation +5

Fall (x3) -3

Endurance +1

Total Reward: 3

Cumulative Points: 115]

That was his worst match so far, entirely because Granny Whitney had handicapped him from the start. He should have felt anger, but when he was honest with himself, he knew that he should have expected such a thing. When he saw her enter the room, he just gave her a flat stare.

"Are you going to tell me what that was about?"

"Collecting points is a fine hobby, dearie, but it won't matter in the end." She walked in and handed him something that looked like... like a mint, actually, though he could feel lucrim within it. "Right now, winning is less important for you than training."

"And getting the shit kicked out of me is training?"

"Actually, the point was to kick the shit out of your foundation. Test yourself, see how it feels."

He closed his eyes and tried to do so, and to his surprise, he found that his foundation had changed. It felt denser, but not the way it did after normal condensation. Instead, it was as if parts of it had been burned and hammered into a different shape.

"That pill I gave you exists for foundation improvement, but there's only so much you can put yourself through during the critical period. No matter how much willpower you have, you won't be able to be as hard on yourself alone as you would be trying to fight two opponents who aren't holding back."

Rick nodded slowly, accepting that she had a rationale other than cruelty. Didn't make too much of a difference to what he was facing, though. "I'm guessing this isn't the last time?"

"Goodness, no. Get used to the side effects, dearie, because you'll be feeling them every match from now on."

"Are you sure this isn't bad for me? My foundation might be denser, but it feels... damaged."

"Don't worry your pretty little head about that. You'll be fine if you take your medicine and keep going." Granny Whitney pointed to the pill she'd handed him and then turned. "Having said that, I need to be going now. Lots to do, lots to do. Have fun until your next match, okay, dearie?"

All he could do was nod. Rick swallowed the pill she'd given him and did feel a little better. Though it tasted and dissolved exactly like a mint, so part of him had to wonder if it wasn't just a piece of candy and the placebo effect. It was hard to put anything past the old woman.

After taking a moment to collect himself, he left the room and almost immediately ran into Henry. His friend had a bandaged cut along his forearm but otherwise looked fine. "Hey, man, looks like we had matches at almost the same time. Are you alright? That was a pretty weak showing out there."

"I don't want to talk about it."

"That's cool, man, just saying. Try to get as many points as you can - there's a rumor that there will be a big event in a couple months or so, but not everyone will be able to participate."

Most likely that was referring to the multi-tier tournament that Granny Whitney wanted to use him for. It felt odd knowing more about the Underground than Henry, though Rick wasn't sure it was worth the price. Besides, it felt like his friend had improved again. "That demonic bond seems to be working out for you."

"Kind of." Henry headed out and Rick kept pace with him as they headed back to the surface. "I got it upgraded to 12,000 lucrim, but I don't think it's going to improve much more than that. I could take a second bond, but the terms would be worse. Basically, I'm starting to see the limits of trying to gain power this way."

"Well, it definitely helped you this far." Rick didn't say anything about the real limitation: the consequences of overusing a demonic bond. Especially not since Henry would just needle him about his recent poor performance.

"It's like I said earlier, man - nothing's set up to help out the little guy. We're doing a lot better than some and we're still not able to get ahead." Henry shook his head as if to shed those thoughts and then smiled at him. "You want to do something, man? Since I haven't been working as much lately, I feel like we haven't hung out in forever."

"Why not? I'm not doing much right now and I could use some recovery time."

"If that's what you want, there's a place not far away that makes lucrim shakes. They're not gonna change your life, but they're cheap and they should help you recover a bit. I could go for one myself."

After the recent challenges, that sounded good to him. "Sure, let's go."

"Alright, just let me stop by the shrine on our way."

Rick held his tongue and didn't complain. Soon enough they arrived at the shrine, a gaudy little place next to a gas station. The upper tiers were plastered with posters that declared the incredible power of Malcor the Magnificent - another independent mystic with a gimmick, basically. Trying not to judge, Rick just stayed back and watched.

Bending down in front of the lucrim collector, Henry focused and extracted some of his aura. He created a large drop in his palm that must have cost him 100 lucrim or so, then dropped it into the collection bowl.

Mystic lights flashed overhead, power flowed around the bowl to consume the aura, and then the collector spat out a ticket.

Henry grabbed it, then repeated the process several more times. Once he'd collected five tickets he stood up, pocketing them with a pleased expression on his face, as if he hadn't just blown 500 lucrim on nothing at all.

"Really, man?" Rick knew that he shouldn't, but found himself unable to help it. "You know the chances of the mystic picking you are like a million to one. It's throwing lucrim away."

"Nah, man, I have a system." Henry flashed his tickets with a grin. "The mystic doesn't like to pick students from the same location too many times in a row, so I change up which shrine I use based on the past winners. Plus, your odds go way up if you donate five times or more."

"Sure, five in a million. Have you ever even met the mystic? Gotten anything?"

"I mean, I haven't gotten lucky yet, but he sent me a pretty nice scroll once. Learning the tech on that thing raised my generation rate by over 150 lucrim!"

And most likely he'd spent far more than that acquiring it, but Rick got himself under control because he didn't want an argument. Uncle Frank had always said that the independent mystics were basically just increasing their power by parting fools from their lucrim, and it seemed that was true. In the old days, they had to sit on their mountaintops and rely on intrepid fighters to offer donations. These days, they could automate the whole system and gain far more power.

They started to walk away from the shrine and Rick tried to think of an easy way to change the topic. Before he could, the door to the gas station opened and two people walked out - two people he wouldn't have expected to see at all, much less together.

The first was Emily, the fighter from the Underground. And the second was one of the two Birthrighters who had beaten him with Mike. Rick stared in shock, wondering what to do, and then they made eye contact and he didn't have a choice anymore.