The bell’s ringing filled the air, drowned out in cheers for the group, but these were only cheers for Valora. The bloodthirsty crowd cared little for Bold or for his team mates, they were just an extension of Salinas. Khan waved his hand at his minion, she did well but was no longer useful now. The puppet had played her part in distracting her twin. The rest of the night was a blur, the ring, the victory, the power, the pain, the hunger, the puppet… the vision.
Bold sat in a steel chair, leaning back and eyeing the ring, toying with it between his large fingers. He gazed at the gold, admiring the quality and style of the jeweler, the nicely cut oversized diamond, the engraving etched into the side of the solid metal, ‘fortune favors the bold’. The Mongolian would have been amused by this prize in a past life, but currently it means little to him now. A trinket, a small offering, something to get a better prize, the coveted title. Huckleberry was eliminated earlier this evening, and in the next show will face one on one against Jeremiah Vastrix.
Bold thought hard about that last name. Vastrix. The Cyborg. Would he even be able to fight after the explosion earlier this evening? The WENDE bot self-destructing was a major change in plans. WENDE being a thorn in his side for so long, made him want to murder all the robots he could find, and now he has the tools to do so, but now his prime target was gone. His hatred sated and misplaced. The Mongolian coughed, dark viscous blood oozing from his lips.
The matches tonight took a toll on him, more than anyone else on his team. Nobody else faced the brunt of the blows as much as he did. He knew he was more powerful, maybe not completely in strength, but resilience, he would not be put down like a wounded dog any longer. No more losing to the likes of Sokolov, or those androids.. He alone withstood five major blows that would have put anyone else under. Takoma’s Heart Punch, Drago’s Ram, A Sokolov Beatdown, Kara’s police baton, and a chair shot from Dillinger. Any of those would be able to put anyone away, but not this time. This time was different.
The Mongolian felt his stomach growl. He cursed in his Mongol tongue, forgetting about the necessity of his choices, his transformation only just completed early that evening. The Mongolian thought for a moment. The explosion earlier from the WENDE bot hurt quite a few people, maybe there were some stragglers that didn’t get to the hospital in time. He strolled to the explosion site, nothing was really left in the collapsed wreckage. Cursing again under his breath, he saw some sinew against the wall, still soaked with blood. Bold grabbed it, wringed it tightly within his hands into his gaping mouth, slurping down as much as he could in his thirsty state. It was cold, bitter, and not what he needed.
The large Mongolian tossed the sinew away with his blood-covered hands, only for his vision to blur. He stumbled a bit, falling against a partially scorched wall, breathing heavily. Maybe all those blows earlier had caught up to him. He slumped over sideways, before his vision went dark.
He awoke back to the dusty plains of Mongolia, near his tribal home. The air was red, just like last time. He looked towards the death gate, it was locked still, unable to be opened by mortal means. He saw a hooded figure standing beside it, one of the five he had seen previously, but this time they were alone. He waited, staring at the figure, waiting for something to happen. Eventually the figure lowered their hood, revealing a very pale woman, reminiscent of someone of a royal blood line from the 1600’s. The woman could be considered beautiful even in these times. She radiated an aura of elegance, full of grace, each movement planned in advance. The woman walked up to the Mongolian man, a vast difference between their heights and figures. The woman showed no fear, but a smile did not strike across her fair features, as she stayed stoic, eyeing up the warrior. She pursed her lips for a moment before speaking.
“You may have won your battle. The others may be slightly piqued by your power and resilience, however I am not quite as impressed. To be as one, one must have class. One must have finesse. One must have grace.” The pale woman looked up at the towering Mongolian, however her gaze was fierce and unimpressed, sizing the man up and down, taking her time. “You lack finesse, you lack poise, you lack sophistication.”
The figure moved with lightning speed, disappearing behind the Mongolian before hitting him in the back of his knee with a heavy blow, knocking him into a kneeling position. Almost as if she hadn’t moved, she appeared back in front of Bold, staring at him intensely before suddenly grabbing his chin with her hands with claw-like nails. She turned his head to the left and right, looking at him a lot closer. “It seems… you can put the blood into a barbarian, but that doesn’t take the barbarian out. We will need to work on that boy. Build yourself up properly. Walk with grace, power, and restraint. Hold yourself to a higher standard than those lowly sheep that prance around you in that ring. Even with the heavily diluted dose you received, you are still royalty.” The pale woman stared hungrily into Bold’s eyes, savoring the moment her words reached the warrior in front her, seeing the eyes shift and dart with emotion of the last statement. “It seems that you are royalty in more than one bloodline.”
She released her grip, before twirling away from Khan, walking off into the distance in the red filled fields of Mongolia, her last words penetrating the still air like arrows through leather. “Hold yourself to a higher degree of respectability. Get yourself a decent meal little boy, we are watching.”
Bold’s eyes snapped open, back in the partially blown up arena, blood covering the floor, his hands covered in the sticky substance, coated like red mittens. Not a soul in sight. He picked himself up, looking around. He did need a proper meal, but not here.
Bold found himself in a bar. A live band playing ballads to the patrons, swill being drunk, and stories regaled to the intoxicated. The undead Mongolian found himself drinking the local brew, but it did nothing to pique his interest. The carbonated ale tasted familiar, but foreign. It didn’t dull the pain or the throbbing ache in his back, no matter how much he ingested. The Mongolian swore under his breath, unable to get drunk, everything might as well be virgin in this bar. He glanced around at the patrons, living life to the fullest. This bar was a lot livelier than the previous one, the same trick would not work again. All this fantastic drink and not a drop to sate his thirst.
Khan placed his weary head into his hands, thinking about a way to fulfill his thirst. He could be brutal and just take what he wants, but with the Luchador underground already after his head, it wouldn’t be good to paint another target on his back. After a few moments, he saw a familiar figure off to the side, toying with her drink at the other side of the bar. A vision perhaps?
Bold picked up his warm beer and made his way over to the figure. Same face, more appropriate clothing as his dream, but a more warm and welcoming expression. The large Mongolian sat next to the woman, staring at her for a moment, making sure it wasn’t a hunger induced hallucination. “You are not a vision.”
The woman stirred her drink for a moment. Looking back at the large man before her, letting a coy smile cover her face. “No, not a vision, but I am here to test you. We all saw your battle this evening. Your skills come naturally, however you have a lot to learn, to practice, and to become… better.”
She turned and looked at a pair of foreigners, Americans by the looks of it, drinking and enjoying the night. “I have it easy. My looks, everyone wants to sleep with me, they just don’t know it yet. I can turn even the gayest man into a necrophiliac, but they will never know that. They will wake up with flu-like symptoms for a couple days, but they will live. This test… it isn’t about your brute strength, nor your resilience. This isn’t about your ability to lie and make them go out back. No, this test is about your ability to make your target give you what you want, in plain sight. Can you do this little boy?” The petite woman smiled at the large man, playing with her cosmopolitan. She suddenly stood up and sauntered over to the Americans, before bending seductively over the table, and staring longingly at the blonde one. After a while, the blonde man and seductress leave the table, leaving the brown haired American alone and a little bewildered.
The large Mongolian smiled, ordering another drink from the bartender, before walking over to the American sitting alone. He sat across from the confused man. He looked at the large Mongolian, not quite sure what was happening.
“Hey, uh… that seat is taken, do you mind sitting somewhere else?” The man said, a little taken aback about the assertiveness of the larger man.
“I will only be here for a short time, in fact I need your assistance.” Bold said, a smile creeping across his face. He placed his drink on the table, and pulled a rather large Mongolian curved knife from his leather biker jacket. Bold looked directly into the man’s eyes, staring almost into his soul, “I need you to make my drink. Put your blood and soul into it.”
The American acted almost robotically, grabbing the knife and placing it into the palm of his hand before slicing deep into the flesh. He didn’t wince or cry out, but grabbed the Bloody Mary and let the fresh blood drip into the drink. After a few moments, the drink was filled with the blood of the man before him. The new vampire grabbed his knife, quickly licking the stray blood from the blade before resheathing it. He grabbed his drink, stood up and patted the man on the back before returning to his seat at the bar. He took a sip of his weird concoction. The fresh blood chilled by the ice of the drink mixed well with the other ingredients. It was the best tasting alcohol he ever had: refreshing, reinvigorating, revitalizing. He glanced around the bar. All the other blood bags didn’t even know, and his mark wouldn’t even remember after this besides the wound on their hand.
It felt like hours passed. His attention turned towards the figure approaching from the bathrooms, licking her now rose colored lips free of blood and sitting down next to the Mongolian. Bold looked at her, noticing her disheveled skirt and ruffled hair.
“Have fun?” Bold asked, taking another drink from his now delicious concoction.
“Quite a bit, it is always fun draining them in more ways than one. Makes you feel a little less dead inside for a bit.” She stared off in the distance for a moment, before breaking a rare smile and holding out her hand. “The name is Cecilia, the true heiress of the ancient Lahmian blood-line.” The Mongolian took the hand and shook it gently, like holding onto a fragile lilly.
“A piece of my power flows through your veins, making your prey that much easier to tame. With my abilities, you do not require brute force, just a bit of finesse and timing. Hold yourself with grace, and we can achieve great things.” She nods towards the ring that was obtained. “Now, let’s set out for the evening, the night is young and there is a lot to learn.”
The odd pair left the lively bar, their thirst quenched, and the hunt for the night just beginning.