26 #2
Balthazar made his way to the cage with his hands held high, like a politician greeting his supporters. He was a strapping lycanthrope with an enormous scar across his left cheek, wearing a white tank top, sporty shorts, sneakers, and a tasteless bowler hat.
“And now,” the referee continued, “the man who needs no introduction, because everyone knows his name, from here to the end of the world! Swan!”
“Swan! Swan! Swan! ” The crowd chanted.
Constantine had heard enough stories about Swan to scar his mind, but he’d never seen him in person until now.
Unusually tall at seven foot two and muscular like a bull, Swan was not a typical vampire.
His sturdy legs were clad in tight black pants and brown knee-high leather boots, his torso bare.
He wore a metal helmet that covered his forehead and temples, with only a ponytail hanging from his bald head.
His eyes were pitch black, irises blending with pupils.
But most striking was his face – a large chunk of his nose, the skin beneath, and his entire upper lip were missing, offering a direct view of his teeth and gums. Some stories claimed his face had been hacked up with a machete, while others insisted he’d done it to himself to inspire fear.
Whether it was a wound that couldn’t heal in the immortal world, or Swan was a psychopath who mutilated himself regularly, Constantine didn’t know. One thing was certain, though – he was a powerhouse.
But all that mass had to weigh him down. Constantine wondered if he might lose the bet, after all…
Upon exiting, the referee locked the door and slipped the key into her cleavage. The opponents took their positions in the cage corners.
Constantine frowned at Swan’s disfigured face.
He glanced at Diana, curious about her thoughts.
She wore her usual stony expression, betraying no emotion.
But he recalled how frightened she’d been when she’d first seen him transform, and again the other day in the gym.
If his necromancer form had shaken her, but now she could stare at Swan without batting an eye, did that mean this noseless bastard was easier on the eyes than his skeleton form?
Constantine had never minded the general mistrust, disgust, and fear directed at necromancers, but the idea Diana found him revolting didn’t sit well with him.
The fight began with some warm-up blows. As expected, Balthazar was much more agile than Swan, darting back and forth, circling his opponent and landing more hits. It was a strategy that would only work if the fight ended soon; otherwise, all those unnecessary movements would wear him out.
Swan, on the other hand, moved at a languid speed, his attacks slow and almost lazy.
Balthazar had the upper hand and got in three consecutive hits. During the third one, Swan ducked and sprang up so quickly that Balthazar couldn’t avoid the uppercut – Swan’s fist connected with his chin.
The blow sent Balthazar flying. The crowd erupted. He crashed onto his back, but was back on his feet in seconds. Without missing a beat, he launched himself at Swan with a series of blows, forcing him backwards. Balthazar leapt up and landed a hard kick to Swan’s stomach on his way down.
When Swan recovered, Balthazar unleashed another impressive combination of acrobatics and strikes. His last move, however, fell short, allowing Swan to land a series of brutal side punches that could crack a concrete block. A swift kick sent Balthazar sprawling again.
He barely got back up before Swan followed with three rapid kicks. Balthazar dropped to the ground once more, his cry lost amid the crowd’s cheers. His body began to transform.
After regaining his footing, he transformed into his lycanthrope form, towering over Swan on his hind legs. He lunged, jaws wide, but it was as if Swan had been waiting for this moment. In a blur of speed, Swan grabbed the wolf and hurled him against the cage.
The next few seconds were too fast to track, even for a superhuman eye. A flurry of quick and precise blows – a mix of jabs, crosses, front kicks, and axe kicks – left the wolf as helpless as a newborn kitten.
Swan backed away from his opponent’s bloodied body. The man was sprawled on his back, panting like a wounded beast.
“Ten, nine, eight…” The crowd counted down with the referee. “Three, two, one!”
The referee unlocked the cage. “Swan wins!”
On the way back, Diana remained silent until they reached the Hospital’s underground parking.
“I can’t understand how Swan can be both heavy and insanely fast,” she spoke after Constantine killed the engine.
“I agree, he’s impressive. That’s why I wanted you to see him.”
“Thanks. Incredible technique… I don’t have his mass, but the speed of those combinations… Damn! I should add some of those moves into my repertoire…”
Constantine turned to her. “Diana, I didn’t bring you to the fight to take notes on his technique. Swan will be in the Al-Hatib Tournament. And, if the rumours are true, he’s one of the weaker contestants.”
Her body tensed. The car lights dimmed, but she didn’t reach for the door. Instead, she leaned back and stared out the front window.
Constantine knew her profile well, but now, outlined by the shadows in the underground lot, her full lips seemed more tempting than ever. Deep down, he realised he had nothing to offer her. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder what it would feel like to touch someone so different from himself.
Fate must be having a laugh at my expense … Just as he’d lost his ability to see, he longed to look into a woman’s soul. He’d give anything to know what was hidden behind those eyes. What motivated her actions. What she truly thought of him.
If he were an ordinary man, he’d woo her until he won her trust. But why waste time, if in the end, all she’d feel is disappointment, and he’d remain just as empty and bored?
Diana reached for the handle but paused. “Why are you so set on making me quit the tournament, Constantine?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder at him.
He wasn’t sure how to answer.
“Because you don’t belong there,” he said.
One of her eyebrows arched like an incredulous rainbow. “Remind me again when you were appointed my guardian?”
It wasn’t like she didn’t have a million reasons to be wary around him, but this sarcastic-defensive tone was starting to wear on him. “I don’t want you to die, Diana.”
“I want that even less, but I don’t get why you’re so concerned…”
“Because I like you.”
His muscles tensed as soon as the words slipped out. He hadn’t planned to say that.
Diana’s eyes widened in genuine surprise, her defences faltering for a split second. Then she laughed – a sharp, deflective sound. “You like a lot of women, Constantine.”
Her laughter grated on him, now that he’d admitted something real. He leaned in a little. “I like you in a different way.”
Her amusement flickered, replaced by a spark of curiosity – or maybe challenge. “Should that flatter or repulse me?”
He pressed his lips together. “You’re not like the others.”
She laughed again, but this time it was softer, almost thoughtful. “I’m sure you say that to all the ladies.” She glanced away, her fingers playing with the strap of her bag.
His gaze didn’t waver, and his tone held steady, almost grave. “I’ve never said that to anyone before.”
The air inside the car thickened, charging with electricity. Constantine’s nostrils filled with the scent of roses mixed with a hint of spice, making his pulse quicken.
He took a chance, resting his hand on her seat back. He wouldn’t make a move, but if she did, he wouldn’t pull away. Almost holding his breath, he watched her closely.
Diana stiffened at his subtle advance. She inhaled deeply, her eyes darting away as if she were weighing her options, calculating the risks. Her lips parted, but no words came out.
“Thanks for tonight, Constantine,” she said after a long moment. When she looked at him again, her expression was inscrutable. “I’ll see you in the gym.”
Then, without another word, she fled his car as though Hekate’s demons were chasing her.