So Ryan swung the post close to the ground and caught the stumbling Mog around the ankles. The chain cut through the big man’s Achilles tendon, then swept him completely off his feet. Blood began to spurt from the wound as the length of chain wrapped itself around his leg, binding him like a slave in heavy leg irons.
Ryan jerked the post back and forth, twisting and turning Mog’s leg in a number of unnatural directions. The big man screamed, and the deep bass howl of pain silenced the spectators as they wondered if their champion might fall, or even worse, be chilled, at the hands of the outlander.
Ryan unwound the chain, leaving behind an angry red wound and a ruined foot that seemed to hang from his leg by a string.
“Leave the ring and I won’t chill you,” Ryan said.
“Fuck you, One-eye!”
Ryan raised the post over his head and threw the pointed end to the ground between Mog’s legs, tearing apart the man’s scrotum.
Blood spurted up from the wound.
Ryan could feel the giant’s scream in the pit of his stomach.
“Last chance to live,” Ryan said.
“Fuck you!”
Ryan pulled the post from the ground and brought it down again, harder this time, piercing Mog’s throat and smashing apart his neck.
The dying man gurgled a few wet and bloody words, then fell silent.
The crowd for the most part was left stunned, except for Ryan’s crew, who had bet heavily on the one-eyed man and won.
Ryan looked up at Krysty, who was smiling, as much in relief as joy. “Well done, lover,” she said, mouthing the words slowly so Ryan could understand.
Ryan nodded at Krysty, then slowly headed to where his clothes lay in a heap. His ribs were on fire, and the cut on his arm stung from the sweat and dirt that was running into the wound. He needed to get dressed as quickly as possible to have some place to hide his panga if he wanted to leave the circle with it in his possession. When he put on his shirt, he made sure the big blade was concealed within it. Then when he slipped into his pants, he was able to slide the long knife into the rear of his waistband. It wasn’t the best place for the knife, but hopefully it would be hidden well enough to get it past the sec men.
By the time he was fully dressed, the sec chief had come down from the stage and had entered the circle, holding Krysty’s arm and leading her like a horse.
Up on the stage, the baron raised his hand and addressed the crowd. “You’ve done well, one-eye,” he proclaimed. “You’ve defeated our champion, and provided us with some of the best entertainment we’ve had in months.”
“I don’t chill people for sport,” Ryan muttered.
“Can it, one-eye,” Grundwold advised Ryan under his breath. “You cross the baron now and you’ll be full of blaster holes before you take a step. Keep your mouth shut and you get to spend the night with pretty little red here.”
Ryan looked at Krysty, saw her smile, and steeled himself from saying or doing any more.
“And now,” the baron said, “as the winner of our little contest, you shall have a prize like no other.”
“To the victor goes the spoils!” the crowd cried out.
“A rutting mate of exquisite beauty. You will create offspring of exceptional quality and when you do, all will be taken care of, and you will yet again be rewarded for your service to your baron.”
The crowd rose to their feet and began chanting. “Baron Fox relieves the burden! Baron Fox relieves the burden!”
Ryan thought of Dean, about having to turn him over to a complete stranger as some sort of prize, or product made in a factory or mill, and his blood began to boil.
Krysty, sensing Ryan’s anger beginning to build, cautioned him. “Easy, lover,” she said to Ryan as Sec Chief Grundwold presented her to Ryan as his prize. “This is not the time for it.”
Ryan nodded. Krysty, of course, was right.
“We can chill the baron tomorrow,” she whispered in his ear. “Tonight is for us.”