CHAPTER 066: Platform fighter Tuesday, pt. 5

"Ugh! Where is that brat?"

Red Cap grumbled, while stomping his way through the lunch rush crowd.

"Wait, am I lost? Does this count? I might as well let the winds of fate guide me, then..."

He passed a stall selling deep fried baked beans, almost passing out from the smell.

"Not those winds!"

Suddenly, a park mascot caught his attention.

"Come to Festiville's Fantasy Lounge! Try our half-off drink specials! For a limited time, only!"

"Perfect," Red Cap mused while entering the bar.

The first floor was packed with patrons getting plastered atop fantastical furniture pieces. Red Cap moseyed up to the bar itself, taking his seat atop a bar-stool shaped like a toadstool.

"Give me 5 of whatever that half-off drink is," he ordered.

As the first drink arrived, the TVs in the room showed matches were about to resume.

"Welcome back, fight fans! I trust you all had a pleasant lunch! Ventriloquist, what stall did you vote for?"

"I went with a classic: deep fried black & white cookies. What about you?"

"Deep fried cheese wheel!"

"Makes sense."

"Why?"

"Nothing, announce the next match."

"Right! In the circular corner, Double Jouster!"

Two figures appeared on the small, circular platform. One was dressed in a suit of knight's armor, and carrying a lance in hand. Next to him was a horse, standing resplendent in the most expensive of horse armors.

What made Red Cap perform a spit take, however, was a single horn sprouting from that horse's head.

"Hey!"

The patron with a now wet neck wanted to complain more, but Red Cap's glare silenced him.

"Quiet! I'm watching the game, here!"

"right, sorry... I'll just go get some napkins."

Returning his attention to the screen, Red Cap sincerely wished the fighter luck.

"Come on... You must win this! I have to meet you in the semi-finals!"

DING!

Double Jouster moved so quick, and with such grace, it appeared as if his horse were dancing across the arena. One second he was charging into a competitor and, the next, he was already riding away in the distance.

If that wasn't bad enough, Double Jouster struck with the force of an incoming train. He would adjust the length of his lance with every hit, making it difficult to predict. And, on top of that, his horse's horn possessed a similar property of extension.

From the top down camera view displayed on the screen next to Red Cap, it was like watching a trick shot in pool. Double Jouster elegantly bounced from fighter to fighter, winning the match within 30 seconds.

"Yes," the two figures, despite their separation, shouted in unison.

"I can believe we made it! Way to go, Steve," Double Jouster said while patting his horse's neck.

"I am so glad he's made it! Wait for me, horsey," Red Cap said while stroking his beard.

Meanwhile, directly above his head, the Running Back was in a sour mood.

"Lord, how can there not be a single hero with the skill to rile up a crowd? Is this a hero tournament, or a bushwhacker convention?"

"Don't get too excited, now. You've drank too much to take a blood pressure pill, remember," his manager, Saul, advised.

"I know... I just feel like our requirements might be too stringent."

"Don't talk like that, you deserve the best! If we can't find someone to inherit your will, why even bother with this succession nonsense."

"Yeah, but what if nobody can inherit this? Untackleable might only belong to one person, in the hearts of football fans."

"There's still 7 more matches, Tyrell, so relax! We always have the backup plans if nobody catches your attention. It isn't like we have to stay here the entire week, you know?"

"Don't I have that AFL documentary, next week?"

"You do, but I can move things around. So don't worry, and enjoy the rest of these matches."

From the TV, Gregory could be seen introducing the participants for match 10.

"In the circular corner, Heavyweight Toucan! He's just dominated the sumo leagues, so can we expect a repeat performance here?"

"Not if the next contestant has anything to say about it."

"Good Commentary? Stop! You make me think you're gunning for my job, now!"

"What? I'm just going based on my doll's prediction."

"Don't go giving away spoilers! The crowd is already ready to revolt!"

"Relax, a rain blocked my prediction."

"Weird, there aren't any water users in this match. Anyway, opposite Toucan, in the hexagonal corner, we have Cyber Dambe! Fresh from Nigeria!"

From inside the Fantasy Lounge, Saul commented on the fighters.

"Well, we have at least two professional fighters, this time."

"Indeed, get me the info on those two sports."

"Roger that!"

As they spoke, Cyber Dambe appeared on the platform. His tan was dark from months of fighting in the sun, and his muscles were well toned without reaching bodybuilder proportions. He wore a black balaclava, pink denim shorts, and open-toe shoes. Finally, In place of a right hand, Cyber Dambe sported a metal ball the size of cantaloupe.

From the bleachers, Plague Doctor marveled at this fighter.

"Just look at all that tech! I must talk shop with his engineer, sometime!"

"What is so special about having a ball for a hand," Rock asked in-between fistfuls of deep-fried popcorn.

"Girl, Please! His subdermal armor alone costs more than that fancy car of yours!"

"Hey, don't insult Deborah!"

"What's the fellow next to him doing," Scissors asked, interrupting their argument.

"Last minute diagnostics, I'd wager," Plague Doctor answered.

Next to Cyber Dambe, a man not all that used to sunlight prodded him with a screw driver. They spoke in Hausa, so as to prevent eavesdropping.

"(Good. Now give us a twirl!)"

The metal ball spun on its wrist mount, rotating along six different axes.

"(Feels smooth, cousin,)" he told his engineer/coach.

"(Yes, but the check engine light is still on. Are you sure we can't use those extra funds?)"

"(No! I won't sacrifice tradition, especially not on such a big stage!)"

"(You're the boss, cousin. Just remember what we are fighting for, back home.)"

"(I won't,)" Cyber Dambe said with confidence, just as the starting bell rang.

DING!