Chương 44: Beat To Shit

"So who's next?" Joel said, properly facing the other two. He was already trying to calculate which one was better to attack. It was Ifsra's pointing, past him, that made him leap away — a heavy swipe missing him from behind. He pivoted to face the lumbering Kell, whose jaw had shifted sideways. Eyes alight, it was difficult to discern whether fury or delight danced there. It was terrifying all the same when Kell grabbed his lower jaw and shifted it back into place.

"You were holding out on me, you little sneak," he said, massaging his jaw.

"If you had a weapon, you might've ended me right there and then. You're not going to get another chance like that." Joel rushed him to test that statement immediately, firing out two punches in quick succession, a crisp one-two. His jab was slapped away as the follow-up punch was dodged completely. The bastard had already recovered and gotten his legs underneath him. The next flurried combo was blocked as Kell seemed to match his tempo, but it was clear that Joel's attacks wouldn't be easily caught any more.

He was barely keeping up with his own newfound speed. Deciding to mix it up, he faked a kick and landed a straight punch into Kell's eye. He dodged the retaliatory hook to land two tidy jabs to the Executor's brow again. His skull felt harder than stone and his skin tougher than cured leather. He needed a sharper blow, so he'd have to risk what he dreaded, close and inside fighting. He lowered his guard slightly. It'd lower his chances of blocking in exchange for increasing his likelihood of dodging.

He slipped several short punches from Kell, each dodge feeling like he was gambling his life. Instead of moving backwards, he inched forward into the catastrophic blows, stretching his courage until the right moment. He saw it in the fourth punch of a combo, a looping hook, a tad slower from tiring arms. Springing forward, he unleashed an elbow uppercut, leaping to slice it across the giant man's eyebrow. Blood splattered out and leaked down Kell's eye. Exactly what he wanted, exactly what he needed.

He spent a second too long celebrating, as Kell's cinderblock fist crashed into his gut. The bodyshot folded him, and its impact sent him careening into the floor. He rolled and clutched his midsection, heaving for the air that'd been forcibly evicted from his lungs. [Damage taken. HP: 83%] Dragging himself to his feet before the screen could warn him about being prone, he barely got his arm up to block the next bulldozing punch.

He tried to rotate with the hook and take some of the sting off the strike, but it shook his world all the same. [Damage taken. HP: 80%] Joel reeled back, doing everything to stay on his feet. He'd bloodied the eye to affect the monstrous man's vision, but the blows didn't feel like they were becoming anymore inaccurate. Too heavy for how quick it was, a pelting jab snapped his head back and made him lurch. Everything wobbled and his balance tattered dangerously. [Damage taken. HP: 77%] Sensible enough to avoid a whistling uppercut, he decided he'd endured the barrage enough. He turned, leapt over a crate and ran. He'd always been half-decent at tag as a kid, and this loading room felt like a jungle gym on its own. After all, they didn't know he was here for Hottor, so he just had to wait until the backup arrived. No reason to get his head knocked off his shoulders. He jumped on top of an empty cage and perched there, watching Kell smash after him.

Mind clearing and balance returning, he leaped over the Executor, who tackled the cage and threw it aside. He landed in a roll and sprinted the opposite way. It felt silly, but it was certainly better than getting pummeled.

"You make a mockery of our duel," Kell growled.

"And you sound like an oversized baby throwing a tantrum, upset that you aren't getting your way. Why don't you ask your buddy for help?" Perhaps that was pushing the envelope too much. No, it didn't matter. He had to keep the big guy's attention. That attention came hurtling towards him in the shape of a crate thrown as if it was a javelin. He tumbled out of the way, avoiding the shattered splinters that erupted everywhere.

A cascade of clanks followed as several daggers from the smashed crate spilled out onto the stone floor. Pausing, he considered rushing back to pick one up before he stopped. He glanced at Kell's flanged mace that laid in the mess of crates near Ifsra. It wasn't worth escalating the fight to weapons, which felt like more benefitting to Kell regardless. Furthermore, that might've been the tipping point to convince the others to get involved. Joel pushed his legs to ignore the exhaustion and continued to run.

Jumping, he grabbed one of the pulley's ropes to swing himself up to the loading gallery, an interior balcony that looked over the room. A frustrated shout gave away Kell's increasing annoyance.

"Such a good fighter," Ifsra said sarcastically. It wasn't clear if they meant him or Kell, but it irritated Joel nonetheless.

"Mayhaps it's time to use some of your magic to enforce a duel? I could help." Please no.

"Stay out of it," Kell spat out before turning and pointing at Joel.

"You get down here and fight." Joel flashed a middle finger at him. Immature, but they all appeared confused at the gesture, though his tone clarified it.

"Shove it, slaver." Kell's face twitched. Taking a dagger off the floor, he tossed it to Vargo.

"If this one doesn't come down and face me, take an ear off the dwarf." Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit. Vargo seemed too apprehensive to do anything until Kell's glare reminded him what to be frightened of. The stout man nodded to the Executor and picked up the dagger, holding it close to Hottor's flinching face.

"Wait, stop!" Joel yelled.

"I'll come down, I'll come down!" He scampered back down the pulley's hoisted ropes. These bastards. Hottor was nothing more than a toy for them. He glared at Kell, who had a self-satisfied smirk across his face.

"I thought this was a match between us. No need to involve others."

"Now who's throwing a tantrum?" Kell laughed, and then rushed him. Joel anticipated as much, moving to Kell's side. He kicked down at the back of the beefy man's knee, buckling it to the floor. Almost following it up with a knee to a lowered head, instead he leapt back to avoid a whooshing ham-sized backfist. He snuck in a jab, peppering the gashed brow again, before dodging another wide swing that whiffed by much too close. His legs were getting heavier. It wasn't only dodging that was adding to the fatigue.

His opponent was so large — every one of Kell's steps felt like two of his own. He needed to stay in the brute's blind spot, where the leaking blood stung in the eye. Kell had already begun wiping his eye more regularly, something they'd likely both noticed together. Kell went to paw at his wet brow again, and Joel pretended to take the opportunity for another jab. The feint was enough to make the giant man flinch his head back, giving the space for Joel to dip forward and wind up.

Joel rotated his entire weight into the left hook. The sharp swing slugged into Kell's side, perfectly smashing under the ribs. It didn't matter how tough the Executor was, everyone felt a liver shot, and Joel heard a choked exhale confirm that. It was his turn to chase as Kell turtled up and staggered back. Another punch to that bloodied eye was blocked, but his guard went too high and Joel landed a punishing lead roundhouse kick to Kell's abdomen, hitting the same painful spot.

Kell dropped his right arm to hold his side, his face wincing painfully. Joel was familiar with that feeling, all that sparring in his youth, and he knew the man would be a punching bag for the next few seconds. Seconds that were lifetimes in a fight. Joel picked shots carefully, opening with two jabs. One fired high to remind Kell of his bloody eye while the other shot low to tag him in the gut. Hard straight right across the jaw. Looping left hook to the temple.

Pressing forward, Joel snuck his step around Kell's leg and rifled an uppercut that made the giant man trip back into a stack of crates. He blitzed a flying knee to the face, but Kell had recovered enough to block the strike and shove Joel away. Groaning, Kell got to his feet, still holding an arm to his side. However, the pained grimaces and staggered steps had disappeared.

"Good, good…" He wiped his eye, which had become a pointless endeavor. One side of his face looked like it'd been veiled red from the streaming blood.

"You'd be worthy, even amongst the Dominion's own." This monster wouldn't stay down; he seemed fucking relentless. Joel's knuckles were starting to swell and bruise, a dull ache building. It was manageable, confirmed by the fact that no damage notification had popped up yet. He still flexed his fingers to ensure the pain stayed a mild discomfort at best. Surely it was worse for Kell. Joel didn't know who he was trying to convince other than himself at this point.

He resisted the urge to look out the door, in hopes to hear someone coming, maybe Alis. Instead, he swallowed the anxiety for courage. He bolted forward, thrusting a hard sidekick at the stomach that folded the burly man back. Turning, he pushed a front kick, driving his foot straight into Kell's face with a nasty crunch. Nose pouring blood, Kell rolled off backwards to his feet, roared, and charged with an obvious haymaker. Why wouldn't this bastard stay down!? Punches weren't going to be enough to stop him.

Thankfully, [Martial Arts Proficiency] did more than sharpen the boxing and taekwondo he knew — it provided fundamental insights to grappling arts like judo and wrestling. He reached out with both arms to catch the attack. The floor would be his weapon. Nearly hugging Kell's arm, Joel twisted with all the force he could muster. He rolled into the over-the-shoulder throw; the large man's weight was too heavy otherwise. The loud crack from Kell's head hitting the stone floor reverberated through their bodies.

There wasn't a point in thinking that was enough. He had to make sure this fight was over, even if he had to stomp on the guy. His own world spinning, Joel jumped up to pull back for another punch on his downed opponent. His arm wouldn't pull back. Kell's massive mitt of a hand was hanging onto his wrist, an ironclad grip that wasn't letting go. Blood streamed down his mangled face, mixing with the dirt and dust.

Joel punched him in the face again and again, anything to get this lunk off of him, only for each one to be absorbed and accompanied by a red splatter. It only seemed to make Kell's grip tighten, leaving nowhere to flee. The force of the punch to his gut made Joel retch. Pain ripped through him. Bringing his only free hand to his impacted stomach was a mistake as the second blow whipped his head back. It was like a brick smashing into his face, and the taste of blood filled his mouth. [Damage taken. HP: 67%] He tried to yank both arms back into a defensive shell, but only the ungrabbed one came to his aid. It still wasn't enough to block Kell's next punch powering through and snapping his head to the side. [Damage taken. HP: 63%] Black spots were appearing in his vision and Joel knew how dangerous that was. If he didn't stop this barrage, he was getting knocked out. He had to access his [Homebrew], but the blows were scrambling his mind. Before another thought could pass, Kell struck him with a backhand.

The slap made his ears ring and collapsed him to a knee, his arm still hanging up and held by the beefy man. [Damage taken. HP: 60%]"See? The boy's sturdy. He's still there," Kell said, his mashed-up face warping into a terrible smile. Joel could barely see through his swelling eye, but he clenched his loosening teeth and cocked his arm back. Kell slapped him down again, a heavy palm strike that made Joel's eyes glaze over briefly before being shaken back awake. [Damage taken. HP: 57%]"Put him out of his misery before he ends up looking uglier than you," Ifsra said, several feet away, leaning back down against the crate. Something was shrieking and shaking the cage bars behind Vargo. Ifsra's singsong voice became serious.

"Shut that thing up." Vargo kicked and yelled gibberish that quieted the shouts, but not the constant buzzing that rang in Joel's ears. He felt himself yanked off of his knees, wrist still trapped. Kell whispered through the ringing.

"What a waste." With a defiant groan, and despite knowing better, Joel tried for another punch. To his surprise, a pained grunt escaped Kell's lips before Joel's punch even landed. The grip around his wrist loosened. Adrenaline surging, Joel pulled his legs up and drove his heels into his opponent's chest. It was enough to free his other arm as he landed hard onto the floor. He sprang back to his feet, arms raised and ready.

He froze as he saw the tip of a familiar blade jutting out of Kell, who spat blood and reached numbly at his stabbed side. Over the Executor's shoulder, Pest's shaggy head appeared.

"Hey, look who's beat to shit."