Foghat let out a cry of pain and grabbed at his arm to keep it in one piece. He was able to hold his arm together but couldn’t staunch the flow of blood.
Ryan, feeling sorry for the man, kicked him from behind. He stumbled forward, tripped over the chain outlining the circle, and hit the ground hard with his shoulder.
Foghat screamed again, this time silencing the crowd.
Ryan turned into the circle and hurried to Brody’s side.
“How are you doing?”
“I could use some help,” Brody said breathlessly.
“At least the odds are in our favor now,” Ryan said.
“But there’s three of them.”
“Exactly,” Ryan said.
“Are you gonna talk or fight, One-eye?” Mog said in his booming deep bass voice.
“In a hurry to get chilled, Monster?”
“That’s Mog,” Mog said, his whole upper body quivering with anger.
Billingsley moved forward with his pike, tangling as he had before with Brody. But instead of their confrontation stalling into a stalemate, Mog came lumbering forward, swinging his chain wildly in front of him.
Brody pulled back, as did Ryan. They took several awkward steps backward until they came upon the chain ringing the circle, almost tripping over it.
They were in a dangerous spot with their backs against the chain. Mog and his two men could easily pin them down, tire them out, then chill them at their leisure. Ryan knew he had to level the field of battle.
The next time Billingsley charged forward with his pike, Ryan swung his panga across the shaft, cutting the hard wooden pole neatly in two. Billingsley suddenly found himself holding little more than a mop handle. Brody took advantage of the moment, lunging forward with his pike and piercing Billingsley’s belly.
Billingsley let out a bloodcurdling scream of agony and clutched Brody’s pike, but Brody didn’t relent. He began to swing the pike from side to side as if he were waving a flag on the end of it. The hole in Billingsley’s gut grew bigger, spilling more blood and entrails into the circle.
Mog grabbed the pike and pulled on it before Brody had a chance to let go, drawing him forward.
Dorfman, the one who’d chosen a knife similar to Ryan’s panga, moved forward in an attempt to chill Brody, but Ryan headed him off, throwing a shoulder into the man’s chest, which knocked the wind from his lungs with a whoosh and threw him onto his back.
Meanwhile, Brody had stumbled and had fallen face first into the dirt.
Mog raised his massive right arm, holding the chain high above his head for a moment, readying to bring it crashing down on his opponent’s prone body.
Brody rolled right, trying to get away, but wasn’t quick enough. The chain came down on his right leg, slicing through flesh and shattering the bone just below the knee.
Now it was Brody’s turn to scream.
But instead of striking again and going in for the kill, Mog stood over the writhing Brody, as if he were admiring his handiwork.
Ryan took the moment to go after Dorfman, who was still gasping to catch his breath. Ryan stood over the downed man, the bloody panga clenched tightly in his right hand. He raised it over his head to cut the man in two, but as quickly as a mutie ant, Dorfman crawled on all fours to the edge of the circle and under the chain.
Ryan turned to see Brody doing his best to keep Mog at bay with his pike, but it was a losing battle. The giant of a man was toying with Brody, kicking at his right foot, just to hear the wounded man scream.
“The next kick will be your last,” Ryan said.
Mog stopped what he was doing and turned to look at Ryan. “So it’s down to you and me, One-eye.”
Brody tried to stand then, using the pike as a sort of crutch, but the added pain of his ruined leg was too much for him to bear. He let out another agonized scream, then fell back to the ground, this time lying still and motionless.
A few seconds passed as sec chief Grundwold waited to see if Mog would try to chill Brody. When he didn’t, the sec chief rang the bell, signaling another break.