Heroes, Villains, and Renegades Fiction: Trial of Strength Part 10

 Jordan stepped out of the BADGE shuttle into the cavernous shuttlebay on the station. He glanced around, taking in the scale of everything, until EB hopped out at his feet.

“Hey, whatcha smiling for?”

Jordan blinked. “I’m smiling?”

“The whole way up here. You’ve had this goofy smile on your face since the shuttle landed.”

Jordan followed EB toward the exit into the station. “I guess I’m just happy. I know I’m not going to be accepted as a superhero like I wanted, but I thought I’d never see a shuttle again, fly in space, or be on this amazing station. And here I am. It’s like a dream.”

“Well, it’s all real. And yeah, it’s totally cool. This place is fancy and nice — like something out of a wicked sci-fi movie. Just, less drooling aliens and more boring lectures. Fortunately, you aren’t here for hero classes. Just physical training.”

They walked through the station. The shuttle docking hallway opened into the central mess area. Student heroes and instructors chatted over meals.

Ladybug, one of the instructors, approached them. She wore a red-and-black polka-dotted outfit and carried a tablet. “EB, is your cadet here yet?”

EB gestured proudly to Jordan. “He’s right here.”

Jordan gave a nervous little wave. “Hi, I’m Jordan.”

“Jordan Moore. Right. Hero Wear is ready for you, and Coach Thrasher has two hours this afternoon to start your special training.”

“Thanks,” EB replied.

Jordan asked, “What’s Hero Wear?”

“Costume department, of course,” Ladybug said, already walking away.

“Costume?” Jordan looked down at EB.

“Sure. I got clearance for a real supersuit. Don’t worry — it’ll be designed like a wrestler’s outfit, not some boring uniform.”

Jordan’s goofy smile returned. “A supersuit of my own.”

“Yup.” EB’s tall ears twitched. “What’s that?” He hopped away.

Jordan followed closely, not wanting to lose sight of his benefactor. They left the main mess hall for a small lounge area normally used for quiet study. Today, however, a large viewscreen dominated one wall, and a crowd of students was gathered, watching the fighting competition intently.

“What is going on in here?” EB asked.

One of the students replied, “Nova said it was okay. We all want to keep up with the contest. Look! He’s down!” The room erupted in cheers.

On the screen, two fighters battled in an arena to a roaring audience. A massively muscular man lay on the mat, clutching his head, while the victor stood over him, blood trickling down his face. A referee checked both, then declared the winner. The downed man was carried off as a new contender jumped the ropes.

The announcer’s voice boomed, “Dancing Dan defeated Mark Ali in five minutes. Now Greg Thomas joins the ring. Greg comes from a UFC legacy family with many victories. Let’s see how he does against A.W.W.’s Dancing Dan.”

The bell rang. Both men circled each other. While Dancing Dan was bloody and drenched in sweat, his glare remained deadly. Greg lunged, but Dan dodged, grabbed his arm, swung him into the ropes, and drove him to the mat with his knees.

EB hopped up and down. “Go Dan!” He glanced at Jordan’s frightened expression. “Sorry, force of habit. I followed Dancing Dan all last season. Trust me — you can take him.”

Jordan looked bewildered. “Are you sure? I mean, look at that guy. He’s a mountain of muscle with eyes.”

“You know what they say — the bigger they are… Anyway, we can’t keep the costume department waiting, and no one should make Coach Thrasher wait. Move, move, move!” EB hurried him along.

---

The sun was setting on the western coast of Australia, casting long shadows over the imposing Purgatory Penitentiary. The high-security prison for meta-humans housed some of the most dangerous villains captured by BADGE or the various leagues. Releases were rare — most inmates faced lifetime sentences.

A squad of BADGE vehicles waited outside the gates, ready to tag and register the man finishing his sentence.

A muscular man with reddish hair, an unshaven face, and a fierce glare looked down from a window. He wore the standard orange prison jumpsuit with his inmate number emblazoned on it.

The heavy metal door slammed open. The warden entered with two security guards and a man in a black suit. Another guard carried a plastic crate marked with the same number.

“Mr. Jeffries, the paperwork is complete. Your belongings are here.”

Joseph Jeffries ripped open the crate. Inside was the outfit he had been wearing when arrested. With little regard for modesty, he stripped off the jumpsuit and began dressing.

“You… don’t have to… whatever,” the warden muttered, clearly used to far stranger sights.

The suited man stepped forward. “Are you ready to sign?”

While pulling on a strange leather kilt that accentuated his muscular, oddly Nordic build, Joseph said, “I looked it over. Just one question. BADGE is waiting outside to tag me like a wild animal. You said you’d handle that.”

“Trust me, I have. Sign this, work with us, and the loophole will tighten around their necks. They won’t be able to track you until the contest is over. When that happens, you’ll have everything you need.”

Joseph bellowed, “WHERE’S MY SWORD?”

The warden didn’t flinch. “It is now permanent property of the state. We’re not arming you the moment you walk out. And consider your actions carefully. Violence put you in here, and it can put you right back.”

“I don’t need any more lectures from you.” Joseph snatched a pen from the warden’s pocket. “Give me the contract.”

Ken, the agent, unrolled the legal document across the metal table. Joseph signed it with a flourish: Joseph Jeffries the Berserker. Ken smiled with a wicked gleam. “You will not be sorry.”

The warden and guards escorted Joseph and Ken through the maze of gates and checkpoints to the front of the prison.

“I don’t want to see you back here,” the warden said before retreating inside.

The BADGE team was already approaching. Suddenly a helicopter roared overhead and landed dangerously close, staggering the agents and blocking their path. Joseph and Ken climbed aboard. The helicopter lifted off immediately.

“That felt good,” Joseph said, watching the scrambling BADGE vehicles below.

“They’ll try to argue we broke the rules,” Ken replied, “but I have them bound by legalities they can’t ignore.”

“That’s almost as fun as punching them in the face.”

“You’ll get to do plenty of that for us,” Ken said. “You’re about to become the most famous fighter in the world.”

After several connecting flights and thirteen hours in the air, they arrived at the private airstrip for Confederate Brawlers headquarters. Ken led The Berserker straight to Theodor Zeus’s office. The CEO waited behind his desk.

“Ah, my champion. That is certainly an… interesting outfit you have.”

The Berserker stood tall in his revealing, imposing attire, a snarl on his face. “Who are you?”

“Theodor Zeus — your new boss, and the reason you aren’t currently being tracked by BADGE.”

The Berserker smiled. “Thanks.”

Ken and two assistants brought in items. One was a Nordic Viking helmet with large antlers attached. “We recreated the one you lost when they arrested you.”

The Berserker donned it with satisfaction. “Perfect fit.”

The second assistant presented a cloth-covered sword. The broad blade had a ruby embedded in the long hilt. “This is a special gift — an improvement on the weapon they confiscated. It’s believed to be an ancient blade once belonging to Loki himself.”

The Berserker’s eyes lit up. He lifted the sword, and the ruby flashed. A strange darkness flickered across his eyes. “This feels… strong. I feel invincible.”

Continue the Story

Heroes, Villains, and Renegades Fiction: Trial of Strength Part 9

 

A computer tablet propped nearby played the news while Jordan Moore ran a cloth back and forth across the window pane. The INN anchor’s voice carried clearly in the quiet air.

“The first week of contests has concluded, and twenty-five champions are headed for A.W.W. Headquarters to face the reigning champion. Fifteen of those contenders come from the pro-wrestling circuits. It is now well known that the ultimate winner will become the next Oracle of Strength, ending any other career they might have. Fans of these wrestling stars are torn — saddened to lose their favorites, yet excited to see them rise to a new level of power. Our analysts believe most, if not all, of the pro-wrestlers will fail against the superheroes also competing…”

Jordan tapped the screen, switching to a replay from the Smash Stars arena in Florida. Two women battled to the roar of the crowd. One wore flashy pro-wrestling gear; the other fought in a judo uniform.

“Madam Masher just dodged five consecutive attacks from Sally Fairfield. Sally is the women’s world champion in judo. And… that one connected! Sally is reeling… no, she counters with a swift kick. Whoa — clean hit! Masher is down… yes, she’s out! Sally Fairfield advances to the next round!” The crowd roared as a referee helped the defeated wrestler to her feet.

“HEY, JORDAN!”

Jordan startled, nearly dropping his squeegee. He was five stories up, yet the voice sounded right behind him. “Who—?”

A white bunny landed on the platform beside him, nearly knocking over half his equipment. Jordan scrambled to catch a sloshing bucket before it spilled down his leg. “What the heck?”

EB smiled brightly. “Oops, sorry! Here.” He clapped his paws, and the water instantly evaporated from Jordan’s clothes. “All better.”

Jordan set the bucket down carefully. “What are you doing here?”

EB beamed. “I have the best news for you! Nova asked us to find strong contenders for the contest — people with real power who can compete. We also want nice guys, not villains or meanies.”

“And?”

“I picked you!” EB struck a dramatic “ta-dah!” pose.

Jordan frowned. “I’m not in the mood for jokes. I’ve been up here since six this morning.”

“No joke,” EB insisted. “I think you could be a real contender. If you win, you get the best job in the world. If you lose, at least you get on television for everyone to see. Win-win!”

Jordan shook his head. “But I can’t win. I’ll get pummeled by real superheroes. I was trying for the pro-wrestling gig, not ultimate fighting.”

“Oh, come on. Let me try. I have a plan. I’ll take you up to the station and get you training with Coach Thrasher…”

“Thrasher?” Jordan gulped.

EB barely noticed his fear. “Yeah, nice guy, great coach, amazing at shouting. He agreed to give you a crash course in super-powered combat and let you work out in the BADGE gym. A solid week of prep, then we send you to one of the contests. I’m sure you’ll do great with that help and finally get your shot at A.W.W. HQ.”

Flashes of glory ran through Jordan’s mind. Even if he failed, the training alone would be incredible. Still, he felt unworthy. He glanced up at the many windows still waiting to be cleaned. “I… don’t know.”

EB grabbed the bucket and rag and zipped up and down the side of the building in a white blur, cleaning every pane in seconds. He landed back on the platform with a proud grin. “There, all done! Now, are you coming with me or not?”

Jordan realized how serious EB was. “Just tell me one thing.”

“What?”

“Why me? There have to be better, stronger superheroes you could ask.”

“Chase and Justin are contacting other heroes. But you lost your big chance because of all this, and that made me sad for you. Plus, I think there’s more to you than you realize. I’ve been around a looooong time — I know people. There’s a lot more to you than there is to you… wait, that came out wrong. You get what I’m trying to say?”

Jordan managed a small smile. “You honestly believe in me?”

“Yes. No matter what happens, you can only learn and grow from this. So, what do you say?” EB stuck out his paw.

Jordan looked around, "I won't get paid if I don't finish my job. We have five buildings to clean."

EB grabbed Jordan's cell phone and waved a paw over it. It rang and the voice of someone came through. "Jordan? What's going on? Are you finished?"

EB said, "Mr. Jordan quits. Get someone else to finish the windows. Have a nice day." He hung up.

Jordan said, "Uh, that still means I don't get a paycheck."

"I'll make sure you have money. I'm worth half a trillion dollars and I hardly need money at all. See, paycheck included. You ready?"

Jordan took the small paw in a firm handshake. “Make me a champion.”

“Right! Off we go.” With no warning, the two vanished in a flash of light.

---

Theodor Zeus hurled a computer tablet across his office, smashing it against the wall. His face was flushed red, fists clenched, as he bellowed at the three nervous people seated across from his desk.

“Why have all our champions lost?”

“I’m just the market analyst,” a trembling woman replied. “And I should remind you we’ve never made this much money on advertising in the history of Confederate Brawlers.”

Zeus snarled, “Money isn’t the immediate point. I want that Oracle under my roof as my mascot. I want to be the home of the Oracle of Strength. I will own wrestling with that kind of power in my corner. Do you understand?”

They all nodded quickly.

A man with his own tablet checked a list. “We still have a few of our best wrestlers willing to try. They compete in next week’s rounds.”

“They’re second-string losers who barely cut it as fake wrestlers,” Zeus growled. “They’ll get their butts handed to them just like the rest. I want a real champion!”

The door opened and the seedy-looking agent walked in, wearing a serpentine smile. “Sorry to interrupt, but I couldn’t help hearing the roaring from the parking lot.”

“I’m in no mood for jokes, Ken!”

Ken, the agent, replied smoothly, “I’m not here to make you laugh. I’m here to cheer you up.”

Zeus sat back, drumming his fingers on the desk. “You promised me big things, and all I am seeing is failure."

"Don't worry. I have good news that should change your outlook."

"What?” Zeus chewed angrily on the end of his cigar.

“I’ve been doing my research. There’s someone I made contact with who is more than willing to take this challenge on behalf of Confederate Brawlers.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense,” Zeus said angrily.

“Joseph Jeffries. Though he prefers to be called Berserker.”

Zeus sat forward. “Never heard of that wrestler.”

Ken smiled. “That’s because he’s not a wrestler. Mr. Jeffries is a superpowered man with incredible strength who… made some poor choices and ended up serving time in Purgatory Penn.”

One of the women spoke up. “Wait, we can’t use an ex-con. The PR will be—”

“Not now,” Zeus cut her off. “Ken, where is this man?”

“He’s still in Purgatory Penn but gets released in five days. I’ve already spoken with him. He’s eager to take the challenge.”

Zeus shook his head. “BADGE rules say anyone tracked as a villain can’t compete in this…”

“He hasn’t been officially tracked yet,” Ken said with a wicked grin. “They won’t tag him until he walks out and they attach the tracker. The moment he’s free, he signs up for the contest. The rules are vague enough that anyone who signs up can compete. They won’t have time to mark him before he’s already a contender.”

Zeus’s smile returned. “I like this. But are you sure he’s good enough? We’re jumping through a lot of loopholes. This will piss off BADGE. If we fail, it’ll backfire badly.”

“Don’t worry,” Ken assured him. “I’ll make sure he’s exactly what we need. All I need from you is authorization to enter him.” He slid a contract across the desk.

Zeus took it and signed. “As of now, Berserker is a member of Confederate Brawlers. Make sure he makes us look good.”

Ken took the signed contract with a satisfied nod. “He will. I’ll ensure it personally.”

Continue the Story

Heroes, Villains, and Renegades Fiction: Trial of Strength Part 8

 Nova walked into the conference room on the BADGE station. Dr. Henderson, EB, Chase, and Agent Justin were already seated around the table. Without a word, he activated the holo-imager. A screen appeared in the center of the table, showing the International News Network.

“This is Eniola Oluwole of the INN. The top headline across the world today is the challenge issued by the Avatar of Physical — who has since clarified his proper title is the Avatar of Strength. Fight clubs around the planet are packed with competitors preparing for the contests. Both All World Wrestling and Confederate Brawlers have designated their arenas as official venues for local competitions. Winners will advance to the A.W.W. Headquarters arena for the global finals. Experts from BADGE recommend that only those with some level of morphonic ability should compete, yet many ordinary citizens are signing up daily. We now turn to our experts on morphonic powers and combat sports…”

Nova clicked the holo-imager off.

“This is a problem,” he said, “and it is growing bigger by the hour.”

Chase leaned forward. “Is the Avatar truly serious about giving the victor his full power, no matter who wins?”

EB nodded vigorously. “Sounds like it. He was dead serious. We tried to explain why that might be a terrible idea, but I’ve rarely met anyone as thick-headed as that Avatar.”

Dr. Henderson spoke up. “I’ve studied the Avatars since they first appeared, and I’ve had long conversations with Dr. Hermes about both Avatars and Oracles. While Oracles blend human nature and emotion with immense power, Avatars are far simpler. Their personalities and decision-making tend to be very straightforward.”

Nova nodded. “Dr. Hermes has told me the same. Avatars have limited emotions — often only a few, tied to their core nature. The Avatar of Strength is bull-headed, loud, and driven by passion. At least he isn’t fueled by rage or hatred. Still, I fear he will simply choose whoever proves strongest, even if that person is a villain.”

Agent Justin frowned. “That could be disastrous. There are plenty of villainous morphonic individuals who would become catastrophic threats with that kind of power.”

“It could be worse,” Nova added. “If an agent of the Malevolence wins, it would upset the entire balance of morphon power in the universe. We saw the risk when Dr. Fagan was chosen. This time the Avatar seems completely unconcerned about it.”

Justin continued, “I’m worried people don’t fully understand what victory actually means. The Avatar made it sound like he’s simply granting power. It’s much more than that — he will bond with them, creating the new Oracle of Strength. People need to know the facts.”

Nova turned to Dr. Henderson. “Can you write something clear and accessible about what it means to become an Oracle?”

“I can try. It’s a complicated subject.”

“Make it straightforward. I want everyone to understand how life-changing this is. It may discourage casual contestants who have no real chance, and it will make clear to any superheroes that winning would end their current careers. Being an Oracle is glorious, but it comes with a heavy cost. I’ll distribute whatever you write to every fight club, media outlet, and arena involved.”

Dr. Henderson nodded. “I’ll do my best.” He paused. “How exactly is the Avatar running this competition? Will it eventually become one giant tournament?”

“It has already begun,” Nova replied. He reactivated the holo-imager. Robert Layton appeared on screen.

“Hey, everyone.”

EB waved enthusiastically. “Hey, Robert!”

“Good to see you again, little buddy,” Robert said with a grin.

Nova got straight to business. “Give us an update on the Avatar situation.”

Robert nodded. “He’s running this like one giant king-of-the-hill contest. Winners from local contests come here to challenge whoever is currently on top. So far we’ve only had a few contenders, but I hear events are happening live all over the globe. I expect dozens soon. This is turning into a nonstop free-for-all.”

Chase asked, “Are the competitors safe?”

“The Avatar has agreed to keep things non-lethal,” Robert said. “If anyone dies, I told him the whole contest ends immediately and he leaves my arenas forever. I don’t care if I have to call in every local league — I’ll kick that cat out the second someone is killed. So far he seems willing to follow that rule. I’ve got medical teams on standby for the injured.”

Nova gave a small nod. “I’m glad you’re being helpful.”

“I’m glad I agreed,” Robert replied. “This show is bringing in money hand over fist. Sponsors are begging for airtime. Live-stream viewership is through the roof. There’s always a fight somewhere, and whenever there’s a big challenge here the numbers explode.”

"I'm glad it seems to be going well for you, financially." Chase said.

Robert asked, "I haven't asked yet, but why is this avatar a lion... man... thing?"

Dr. Henderson said, "When the morphon avatars arrived, they each chose an identity related to their type. He picked the king of the beasts. Probably not the wisest choice, since the feline nature he picked has seemed to impact how he reacts. Choosing an animal wasn't the best decision."

EB said, "Hey, animals aren't always bad choices."

Robert laughed, "Just curious."

“Keep me updated on what’s happening and who’s winning,” Nova said, moving the conversation back to the topic at hand.

“You’ve got me on speed dial.”

Nova ended the call. “So far things are proceeding smoothly. Our objective is to make sure the wrong person doesn’t win — no villains, and certainly no one tied to the Malevolence.”

Chase asked, “How do we do that?”

Nova smiled faintly. “We have files on every superhero and morphonic individual who has ever come through here. I suggest we reach out and recruit willing participants.”

EB’s paw shot into the air and he bounced excitedly in his seat.

Agent Justin raised an eyebrow. “We’re going to put forward our own champions?”

“That’s the idea,” Nova said. “We know the best of the best. There are also a few heroes ready to retire from fieldwork who might be interested in this new path.” He sighed as EB continued waving frantically. “Fine, EB. What is it?”

EB hopped onto his seat. “I’ve got a champ! He really wants to do something special, he’s had some bad luck lately, and we kind of ruined his big chance. He’s morphonic, he’s been here before, you’ve met him — he’s strong, maybe not the strongest, but he could train and—”

“WHO IS IT?” Nova bellowed.

“The Mustang — Jordan Moore!” EB grinned like everyone should instantly recognize the name.

Chase looked puzzled. “That name doesn’t sound familiar. I don’t remember any hero called The Mustang.”

EB explained, “That’s his wrestling name. Well, he picked Mustang Pilot, but I think it would be better as The Mustang. He was in the amateur match right before the Avatar rudely interrupted everything. When he came up here two years ago, he was just Jordan Moore. Nice guy. Kind of sad.”

Nova asked, “Is he even interested in this challenge?”

“He’s strong,” EB insisted. “I think he could do it. He probably won’t try on his own — he’s been pretty depressed since we messed up his shot. But if we told him we believed in him, I think he’d give it everything. Even if he doesn’t win, it would get him on television and maybe help him land a pro-wrestling job.”

“This isn’t about publicity, EB,” Agent Justin said.

Nova held up a hand. “EB, if you want to find Jordan Moore, he’ll be your challenger. Chase, Justin — go through the files and recruit more. I want this contest filled with safe, worthy contenders. Dr. Henderson and I will monitor the top winners and flag any concerns.”

Dr. Henderson scoffed. “I have never found fighting — real or fake — particularly entertaining.”

“Which makes you the perfect choice,” Nova replied. “You won’t get swept up in the spectacle. I need someone who stays logical and critical of potential dangers.”

Agent Justin asked the obvious question. “What happens if the winner is a villain… or worse?”

Nova’s expression hardened. “Then we will do everything in our power to stop the Avatar from choosing them. For now, our focus is making sure honorable people step up. You have your orders. Get to it.”

Continue the Story

Heroes, Villains, and Renegades Fiction: Trial of Strength Part 7

Theodor Zeus stepped into his limousine, where the agent was already waiting across from him. The car was palatial — full minibar, smart television, and enough room for six people to ride in comfort. Zeus slapped the closed partition window and bellowed at the driver to depart.

He sank back into the seat with a heavy sigh. “Now that was something. I went looking for a new star and ended up with a month-long show for some strange creature. What a mess.”

The agent smiled with a serpentine grin. “I’m sure it will make you plenty of money.”

“The money ain’t the only point… though it’s part of it. I need a star — someone who can take the throne away from A.W.W. I thought I had a real contender, but it fell flat. I don’t even know if this will make money. Who knows? I’ve never done anything like this before.” He pulled out another cigar and clipped the end.

The agent leaned forward. “I have a suggestion that might make you happy about this.”

Zeus lit the cigar with a massive lighter. “What would that be?”

“Champions will come from each venue after competing for the chance to reach A.W.W. HQ and prove themselves worthy to the Avatar.”

Zeus puffed out a thick cloud of smoke. “Yup, that’s the gist of it.”

“We need to provide the champion who will win,” the agent continued. “Find our contender, make sure he takes the challenge and comes out on top. Then you won’t just own the competition — you’ll have the person with the power of that Avatar in your back pocket. He’ll already be famous for winning, and then he’ll be famous as the Oracle of Strength.”

Zeus’s smile widened around the cigar. “The Oracle of Strength, the star of Confederate Brawlers. And with that kind of power, we could expand beyond pro-wrestling. Real ultimate fighting — blood and guts matches that A.W.W. would never allow. I love it.”

The agent picked up his phone and scrolled through files. “I have some people in mind who might be a perfect match. We’ll just need to make sure they win enough to reach the finals.”

“Do what you gotta do, boy. I want this.”

“Trust me,” the agent said with a wicked smile. “It will be done.”

---

Gar and EB were still in Robert Layton’s office after the others had left. Robert was already working on plans to repurpose his venues for the next month.

“Are you sure?” Robert asked.

Gar nodded. “I am. It was a confusing time, and I don’t understand it well. I also have a lot of work waiting for me with BADGE.”

Robert shrugged. “Well, if you ever feel like coming back for a match now and then, we can make it happen.”

EB hopped up onto the desk. “I’ll try to convince him. It would be so cool if we returned for some celebrity matches. The Mighty Stone Dragon — working title — returns to the ring for one night only! His trusty manager, EB, at his side. I would love it!”

A woman opened the door, looking exasperated. “That lion guy is wrecking the place.”

“What now?” Robert stood quickly. “Can you two come help? I have no idea how to handle this creature.”

“We can try,” Gar said. He followed with EB bouncing behind him.

They walked into the now-empty arena. The evening’s televised matches were long over, but loud crashing and grunting echoed through the space.

The woman explained as they walked, “He sat in your box seat the whole event, watching quietly. When everyone left, he stayed behind and started rearranging things.”

Robert was about to ask what she meant when they stepped into view. The Avatar was ripping up seats and breaking them apart, using the pieces to build a massive chair in the center of the stadium seating. He tore metal bars free and bent them with his bare fists.

“What is he doing?” Robert lamented.

EB tilted his head. “Looks like he’s making himself a throne to watch the contest from.”

The Avatar bellowed without stopping his work. “That is exactly what I’m doing! Leave. This place is mine!”

Robert stepped forward. “This place is mine. I’m only allowing you to use it.”

The Avatar turned and growled. “I’m done talking. Leave.”

Gar gently took Robert’s arm. “Whatever damage he causes, BADGE will pay to fix it.”

Robert pinched the bridge of his nose. “This is insanity.”

“Don’t worry,” Gar said. “BADGE damage repair teams are fast and excellent. They’ll have this place looking perfect before you know it.”

Robert sighed. “I have sponsors to call. Mr. Gar, you can change in the locker room and head wherever you’re staying tonight. I’ll let you know if the Avatar starts any more spontaneous remodeling.”

Gar and EB walked back through the arena toward the locker room where Gar had changed earlier. He was still wearing the colorful wrestling shorts they had given him.

EB hopped along, chattering excitedly. “You are so lucky. You get to work with some of the biggest wrestling stars for the next month. I bet they’ll stick around since all the venues are shut down for this. Dante Doom might compete. Oh, and Sherri the Shredder — she’s hot and strong. You could compete too, though I don’t know if an Avatar can bond with someone made of stone.”

They entered the locker room. EB kept talking when his eyes caught someone in the far corner.

“Hey, isn’t that the dude who was on the mat with you?” EB hopped over. Mustang Pilot sat on a bench in towel after showering, head down and arms on his knees. “Hey, what are you still doing here? The place is almost empty except for a nutty lion Avatar and us.”

Mustang looked up, his eyes filled with sorrow. “Oh, hey. Sorry, I’ll leave. Didn’t realize it was so late.”

EB jumped onto the bench beside him. “Hey, you look really down. What’s wrong?”

“My big chance just got ruined. I spent the last two months applying and interviewing for this Amateur Hour. It’s not first-come, first-served, you know. And my shot got completely overshadowed by that crazy lion guy.”

“I bet we can convince Robert to give you another chance,” EB said. “This was a strange situation. Who could have guessed a big Avatar would show up and turn everything upside down? Though you wouldn’t have had much chance against my boy, The Stone Dragon — working title. Okay, maybe that’s not very encouraging. Don’t worry, Gar isn’t competing next time either.”

Mustang looked at EB. “Do you even remember me?”

“I kinda do. But I meet a lot of people these days, being a famous superhero and all.”

“We only met once. I spent more time with Gargoyle. That was two years ago. I probably didn’t make much of an impression. Seems to be my lot in life, no matter how hard I try.”

EB frowned. “Two years ago? You met both of us? Wait — were you on the station?”

“Yes.” Mustang looked surprised. “I tried out for the BADGE hero training program. My name is Jordan Moore. I failed the test… and here I am.”

“Oh, right. Jordan. Yeah, I remember now. Strong guy. But… uh… not strong enough.”

Jordan asked, “How do you remember me so well? I was only there for two days.”

“I’ve got a memory like a steel trap… most days. I remember you were a nice guy. A lot of people who come to test are arrogant because they have powers.”

“Thanks. I wish my powers were better. I’m just kinda strong and super agile. That’s it. But people don’t like hiring anyone with morphonic powers. They’re always worried I might be dangerous. I have to answer the same questions over and over: Why aren’t you in a league? Did you attend BADGE? What villains have you fought? Every time I have to explain that I’m not very powerful. This was supposed to be my chance. A.W.W. doesn’t mind mildly powered people as long as we don’t seriously hurt anyone. I could have made a real career here and used my powers for something better than washing windows.”

EB nodded sympathetically. “Yeah, it sucks trying to live a normal life when you have powers. Nova has been pushing the UN to change the laws about how powered people are treated, but they’re all talk and no action.”

Jordan unwrapped his towel and pulled on his leggings again. “Until they do something, I’m stuck with random delivery gigs and mowing lawns.”

“I’ll talk to Nova about pushing the UN harder,” EB promised. “And hey, don’t worry. This contest will be over sooner than you think, and you can try out again.”

Jordan gave a tired smile. “Maybe. They probably already have the next Amateur Night roster lined up. It’ll take another year for me to get another shot. Good seeing you again. Say hi to Gar for me.” He walked out.

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Heroes, Villains, and Renegades Fiction: Trial of Strength Part 6

 Everyone stared at the screen as the Avatar of Strength basked in the thunderous roar of the audience.

His bold announcement had electrified the already rowdy crowd.

Nova asked calmly, “Tell me this broadcast is pay-per-view.”

Robert shook his head. “No. This is network television. The sponsors are going to be furious.”

“That is the least of my worries,” Nova replied. “Dr. Hermes, can you take this down? Remove it from the media?”

The Oracle of Tech’s eyes went white as he accessed the networks. “Yes. I can see the regular broadcast and the streamers. I could remove it entirely.” His eyes returned to normal. “But I won’t.” He looked directly at Nova, anticipating the question. “As I have told you before, the Oracles must not interfere too much. Events should unfold as they will. This is especially true when it comes to other Oracles and Avatars. His actions are his own. The consequences belong to him.”

EB piped up. “They’ll belong to all of us if this blows up. Imagine if some bozo villain wins this thing!”

“I’m more worried about agents of the Malevolence,” Nova said quietly.

Robert crossed his arms. “If you erase it completely, you’ll turn this into an instant legend. It’ll spread like wildfire on social media, and it’ll look like you’re trying to hide something from the public.”

EB nodded vigorously. “He’s right. Social media is a monster. I once released a special dark chocolate with a secret ingredient. Someone leaked that it was morphon-based magic, so I pulled it and stayed quiet. Big mistake. Conspiracy theories went wild. People thought they were turning into mutants. There was this one guy who—” Nova shot him a burning glare. “Yeah… anyway, trying to hide this is probably a bad idea.”

Zeus interrupted with his usual booming voice. “What in the name of Jack Daniels is going on? Who is that guy, and why is everyone acting like the world is ending?”

Robert sighed. “I’d like a little more information myself. That person just claimed my arena as his own, and I’m not thrilled about it.”

Nova raised a hand. “Fine. I’ll give you answers. First — Gar, EB, go bring that idiot back in here. I don’t care if you have to drag him by his tail.”

Gar nodded and left with EB. While they were gone, Nova gave Robert and Zeus a careful summary of the situation, leaving out the deepest details about the Malevolence. Zeus’s grin grew greedier by the minute. Robert looked both intrigued and concerned.

Twenty minutes later, the door burst open. The Avatar of Strength was shoved inside, half-encased in a large pink bubble.

“I WILL TEAR YOU APART, RABBIT! THIS ISN’T A FAIR FIGHT! LET ME GO!” He thrashed against the gooey prison.

EB hopped in behind Gar, looking pleased with himself. “He didn’t want to come back. Said he was tired of talking. I used some of my special Everpop bubble gum. Never loses flavor or elasticity — and in large enough quantities, it can trap an Avatar kitty cat.”

The Avatar ripped a claw through the bubble and tore himself free. “I will not be treated like this! I will fight everyone in this room!”

Dr. Hermes’s voice doubled, echoing with power. “You will stop. You will listen to us.”

The Avatar broke completely free and turned toward the hologram. “I will not listen to you!”

“YES YOU WILL!” Dr. Hermes commanded, his voice deafening for a moment.

The Avatar huffed through clenched teeth, then finally growled, “What do you wish to say?”

Nova stepped forward with a small smile. “You’ve caused quite a stir. Are you truly planning to bond with the winner of this contest you created?”

“I said I will choose the strongest and make them my Oracle. That is all.”

Dr. Hermes spoke carefully. “Strength, you must be aware there are dark agents who desire your power. You must be wise and—”

“ENOUGH!” the Avatar roared. “I will do this as I see fit. Strength for the strongest — that is all that matters!”

EB couldn’t help himself. “Dude, you can’t just hand your power to some jerk who beats everyone up.”

The Avatar turned and growled at the bunny, his face a mask of rumbling fury. Then he straightened. “I am done here.”

“Wait!” Nova called. “If you insist on doing this, move the contest to the League Wars Orbital Arena. It is neutral ground and can handle anyone — normal humans to super-powered beings.”

“I have already chosen where I will conduct my choosing,” the Avatar stated.

Robert stepped forward. “I’m flattered you chose my arena. Why?”

“Location is good. Many people come to see it. And your warriors impress me.”

EB tried to interject. “Uh, you know these guys aren’t really fighting, right? Well, they are fighting, but it’s not a real fight — not fake like CGI or anything, but… oh, I’ll shut up.” The Avatar shot him another snarl, claws extended.

Zeus jumped in with his bull-horn voice. “Son, you’re more than welcome at my place in Texas. It’s bigger and better than this dinky arena. I’ll give you twenty-four-seven coverage.”

“I have selected my place,” the Avatar said, turning to leave.

Robert held up a hand. “Okay. You may use my arena. But do not damage it, and no one dies.”

The Avatar gave a short nod. “I will honor that. Bring me your warriors. Tell the world. I want the best human to become my Oracle.”

Gar raised his hand. “May I speak, Mr. Avatar?”

The Avatar smiled at him. “You, my strong friend, may speak as much as you like. I like you.”

“Oh, uh… that’s nice. Well, it seems you’re letting anyone who wants to compete join, right?”

“That is correct.”

Gar continued, “I’m not the smartest person here, but I understand numbers. There are a lot of people who might want this challenge. If you hold it only here, it could take years. What if you had smaller contests in other places, and the winners came here for the finals? Like the big tournaments heroes compete in on that mountain?”

Nova nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

The Avatar stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I want the best of the best, so this is acceptable. Here is where I will judge the finalists. But they may compete elsewhere first.” He pointed a claw at Robert. “You. Organize this.”

Robert agreed, though cautiously. “I will. But I have a few conditions.”

The Avatar glared. “What conditions?”

“Let me televise it, get sponsors, and advertise. Also, no one dies. I know you want real fights, but I won’t have anyone killed on my mat. Understood?”

The Avatar nodded. “My rules are simple, no death. Death does not mark true strength.” He turned and stepped over EB as he left the room.

Zeus started to protest. “Wait, I can—”

Robert stopped him. “Arguing with that creature is not wise. He put me in charge, so I’ll handle it. But we’ll make this work.”

“What do you mean ‘we’?” Zeus asked, cigar clenched in his teeth.

Robert explained, “I don’t think we can stop this, and my arena has been claimed. So we’ll do what we do best — put on a show. I’ll open my arenas in Dubai, Los Angeles, Atlanta, London, and Tokyo. You have venues all over. We can split the local competitions, send the winners here, sell advertising, get sponsors — whatever it takes to monetize it. I’m not losing money on this.”

Zeus’s grin widened around his cigar. “Bob, old buddy, you’re a good fellow. I like this idea.”

Nova looked relieved. “I’m glad you’re both willing to help.”

Robert shrugged. “I have little choice. Might as well put real effort into it. As long as he keeps his word and no one dies, I’m in.”

Dr. Hermes spoke one last time. “Strength is an Avatar. He does not fully comprehend human emotions or conditions — that is part of why he seeks an Oracle. One thing he currently lacks is any understanding of deception. He will honor his word completely. However, as an Avatar, his emotions are limited. Strength has always been about prowess and physical power. He respects strength above all else.”

“As long as no one dies and we get this over with,” Robert said. He turned to Nova. “What are you and BADGE going to do?”

Nova’s expression was grim. “Make sure the wrong person doesn’t win. Gar, you stay here until further notice. EB, return to the station when you’re finished.”

The hologram flickered and vanished, taking both Dr. Hermes and Nova with it.

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Heroes, Villains, and Renegades Fiction: Trial of Strength Part 5

The lion man glared at Gargoyle. He stood taller than the stone hero, but Gar showed no fear.

“This match is over!” the lion man bellowed.

The crowd roared with delight. This was exactly the kind of theatrics that sold tickets. Another contestant rushed onto the mat and charged straight at the newcomer.

With a heavy roar, the lion man grabbed the attacker, spun, and hurled him over the ropes — nearly into the stands. A bubble of purple magic formed around the man mid-air, gently floating him down to a safe landing.

EB zipped onto the stage. “Hey! No hurting people. This isn’t that kind of fight!”

The lion man roared and lunged for the bunny. EB darted around his feet, easily evading the grab.

Gar stepped in, seizing the lion man’s arm and twisting it behind his back. He wrapped his other arm around the intruder’s chest, holding him firmly. “This is over,” Gar said calmly. “No more fighting.”

To everyone’s surprise, the lion man grabbed Gar’s arm, tumbled forward, and flipped the stone hero over his shoulder, slamming him hard into the mat. He rolled clear and sprang up, claws extended and ready for more.

No new contestants entered. Mustang Pilot huddled in a corner, trying not to look terrified. Gar climbed back to his feet.

“I seek the strongest!” the lion man roared.

Gar stood ready on one side of the ring while EB hovered on the other, purple magic flickering around his paws. “You will come with us and answer questions,” Gar said.

“I WILL DO WHAT I WANT!” The lion man reached for him.

Gar dodged and caught the man’s arm. A glowing magical tether from EB locked onto the other. The streamers were still rambling excitedly, treating the whole thing as an elaborate stunt.

The lion man struggled wildly, dragging both Gar and EB across the mat. They held firm. EB gasped. “Wow, this dude is pure morphon energy. I can sense it. He’s incredibly powerful.”

Gar demanded, “Who are you?”

The lion man finally stopped fighting. He snarled, then turned directly toward the nearest camera. “I AM THE AVATAR OF STRENGTH! I SEEK A WORTHY HUMAN TO BECOME MY ORACLE!”

EB and Gar exchanged shocked glances. Robert Layton hurried onto the stage with two of his largest wrestlers as bodyguards.

“What are you doing?” Robert shouted. “You can’t just take over my match!”

EB warned, “Watch out. This guy is serious and really strong.”

“Let me go, you little furball!” the Avatar roared.

EB yanked on the magical tether, pulling the Avatar slightly off balance. “Watch it, kitty cat. I’m not to be messed with.”

Gar spoke gently. “Calm down, EB. Mister Avatar, please calm down. We’re from BADGE. We can help you if you stop hurting people.”

The Avatar shot EB another snarl, then relaxed. “I will stop fighting. I trust BADGE.”

Gar carefully released his grip. EB let the tether vanish, deliberately letting it unbalance the Avatar so he stumbled. “Oops. Sorry.” He wasn’t sorry.

Robert gestured toward the exit. “Let’s take this backstage. I still have a show to run. This sounds like official business.”

Gar nodded. “Good. I’ll escort the Avatar back to the station.”

“I WILL STAY HERE!” the Avatar demanded.

Robert held out a hand. “Come. We can talk backstage. Please.”

The Avatar thought for a moment, then nodded. “Acceptable.”

Gar followed the Avatar while the crowd booed their departure. EB hopped over to the only other person still on the mat — Mustang Pilot, who looked completely rattled.

“Hey, do I know you?” EB asked.

“Dunno. What the hell was that?” the man replied.

“Long story. Let’s just say he isn’t human. Here, this will help. Good luck.” EB handed him an enchanted chocolate egg.

Gar walked beside the Avatar, watching him closely. Robert led them back down the same hallway they had entered earlier.

“You, man of stone,” the Avatar said. “You fight well.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Gar replied. “I don’t feel pain, so it’s easier for me.”

The Avatar let out a hearty laugh. “Strength isn’t how much pain you can endure. It is the fortitude of the soul! You have great fortitude. It is a sorrow that you cannot be the Oracle.”

Gar was about to ask what he meant when they stepped into the arena manager’s office. Two men were already waiting. Theodor Zeus stepped forward, a shorter man in a suit behind him. Zeus had a cigar clenched in his teeth.

“My, my. Son, you're quite the act,” Zeus boomed. “You stopped the show again. I like that boldness. Guts — that’s what you’ve got. I’m Theodor Zeus, owner of Confederate Brawlers, and I want to make you a star.”

“Zeus, this isn’t the time…” Robert tried to push him aside.

Zeus refused to budge. “You said I could be here, and I followed your orders. Our friend showed up, so now I get my shot.”

Robert sighed. “The situation isn’t what you think. We need to talk.”

Zeus jabbed a finger into Robert’s chest. “Oh, I get it. Now that you see he might be worth money, you want to snatch him first. This is my chance to get a star and make some real cash.”

The Avatar grabbed Zeus’s hand and yanked him close to his snarling feline face. “I AM NOT FOR SALE!”

Zeus flinched for only a moment before recovering his swagger. “I’m not trying to buy you, son. I’m trying to make you rich — and I’ll take my cut, of course. I can make you famous, the star of your own arena. What do you say?”

“I am not your son!” The Avatar threw Zeus backward. The shorter man caught him before he hit the ground.

“Don’t throw me around!” Zeus brushed himself off and straightened his bolo tie.

The man in the suit stepped forward. He was short, with dark hair and a shadowy look in his eyes. “I apologize for my boss’s brashness. I’m a talent agent, Ken Mal. We would like to sign you.”

“I do not understand,” the Avatar said.

Robert explained, “He wants to make you part of his show.”

EB suddenly appeared, hopping onto the desk. “Wow, Zeus the Moose! Best wrestler in the local leagues back in the 80s. Cool. What are you doing here?”

“Gettin’ some new talent.”

Suddenly, Director Nova and a holographic projection of the Oracle of Tech appeared in the room. Dr. Hermes sat on his tech throne while Nova stood beside him.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Dr. Hermes said. “This is only a hologram. We are not actually here.”

The Avatar folded his arms and muttered, “Oracle of Tech.”

Dr. Hermes nodded politely. “Avatar of Physical—”

“STRENGTH!” the Avatar corrected loudly.

Nova blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

“You humans call my power ‘physical.’ That is foolish! I represent Strength! Power! Fortitude! I am the Avatar of Strength!”

“Tell us how you really feel,” EB joked. Almost no one laughed — especially not the growling Avatar.

Robert spoke diplomatically. “We have a situation. This Avatar of Strength has now interrupted my event twice, and he says he is seeking someone.”

Nova asked, “Who are you seeking?”

“An Oracle,” Dr. Hermes answered.

The Avatar nodded. “It is time I find one to accept my power and bond with my essence.”

Nova pressed, “How do you plan to find this person?”

The Avatar smiled, showing sharp teeth. “A contest of strength. One worthy of my power must prove their strength to me. These contests of strength here have drawn my attention. I want to have one to find the worthy.”

Nova started to speak, but Zeus jumped in loudly. “Sounds like you need a venue for this contest of yours, and I just happen to have a world-class arena ready. Sign with us and we’ll manage everything—”

“I WILL MANAGE MY OWN CONTEST, PUNY HUMAN!” the Avatar roared.

The agent with Zeus spoke smoothly. “I’m sure you can manage. But we have some excellent specimens for you to choose from. Why not come with us?”

Robert added, “I have an arena and plenty of strong fighters who might be interested.”

Nova tried to intervene. “This is a delicate situation. You don’t understand the full scope. This isn’t just a pro-wrestling match. Oracles are—”

The Avatar walked straight through the hologram and slammed the door open so hard the glass shattered.

EB pointed at a television in the corner that was still broadcasting the live event. “Hey, the official wrestling show has started… and there’s Mr. Cat.”

Robert groaned. “What is he doing? My sponsors are going to kill me if he keeps messing up the broadcasts.” Zeus only chuckled.

On the screen, the Avatar of Strength ripped a microphone from the announcer’s hand and stepped in front of the camera.

“I, THE AVATAR OF STRENGTH, WILL GRANT ONE WORTHY HUMAN ALL MY POWER AND KNOWLEDGE IF THEY CAN PROVE THEIR STRENGTH TO ME. COME TO THIS ARENA AND FIGHT. SHOW ME YOUR SKILL. PROVE YOURSELF, AND YOU WILL BECOME MY ORACLE! ONLY THE STRONGEST!”

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Heroes, Villains, and Renegades Fiction: Trial of Strength Part 4

 

Gar and EB walked down the hallway toward the arena. The roar of the crowd grew louder with every step. Several other amateur wrestlers waited just inside the entrance, wearing a mix of homemade costumes and more professional-looking gear. Many looked nervous, shifting from foot to foot. This was the audition of the year — a real chance for regular people to catch the eye of the biggest pro-wrestling organization in the world.

“Wow!” One man in the back spotted Gar. His reaction drew every eye in the group, and a wave of timid fear spread through the competitors.

Gar paused, EB bouncing at his side. “What is a Regal Fight again?”

“Royal Rumble,” EB corrected cheerfully.

“Oh, right. What is that?”

“It’s a free-for-all. People get added to the ring one by one. If you get thrown out, you’re done. Last one standing wins. Simple, straightforward, and really fun to watch.”

Gar frowned. “I throw people out of the ring? Wouldn’t that hurt them?”

EB facepalmed. “It’s wrestling. People are going to get hurt. But it’s all a show.”

“I still don’t get it.”

Before EB could explain further, a woman in tight wrestling gear strode through the group. She had a fierce expression and clapped her gloved hands for attention. “Alright, everyone! Welcome to the most important match of your lives. This is the A.W.W. Amateur Royal Rumble. I’m Firey Vixen, and don’t worry — I’m not fighting you tonight.”

EB practically drooled. “You can throw me whenever you like.”

“Oh, how cute. A bunny.” Vixen smiled at him before continuing. “Rules are simple. This is pro-wrestling. Pull your punches. Don’t seriously injure anyone. Make it look good. Make it look painful. If you get knocked down, sell it like it’s the worst hit of your life. Get thrown out? Keep the act going. Winning or losing this match doesn’t automatically get you a contract. We’re watching how well you perform as a wrestler — good losers can be just as entertaining as winners. But if you obviously try to hurt someone, you’re out. Got it?”

The group murmured agreement.

Vixen turned to Gar. “Layton told me about you. First time, huh? Good luck. Remember — no real harm, but sell it.”

“I’ll do my best,” Gar replied.

She pulled a card from her outfit. “What’s your stage name?”

“My stage name?”

EB jumped in. “Every wrestler needs one! Something that sounds powerful and says what you’re all about.”

“My name is Gargoyle.”

EB shook his head. “No, no, no! That’s your real name. We need something better. How about Dragon… no, Dragon Von Fire was two years ago. Or The Rock, since you’re made of stone? Wait, that’s dumb. No one would call themselves that. What about…”

Loud music and flashing lights erupted from the stage area, cutting EB off.

Vixen shrugged. “Looks like you’re going as Gargoyle. It’s mysterious and cool. Now move. You—” she pointed at EB, “—take a seat in the stands. No coaches in the arena.”

Dramatic music thundered as fog machines filled the hallway. Gar followed the other contestants, feeling awkward as they waved their arms and struck theatrical poses. A stage hand suddenly grabbed him and shoved him forward. “Go!”

A booming voice echoed through the arena. “And for the first time ever, we have a member of BADGE! You’ve seen him save the world. You’ve seen him fight monsters ten stories tall. Now he’ll see if he can survive the Royal Rumble… GARGOYLE!”

Lights flashed. Fog billowed. The crowd erupted as Gar stepped into view. He raised his arms, extended his wings, and turned slowly. The cheers grew even louder. Gar felt something warm bloom in his chest. He liked this.

Robert Layton stood in the center of the ring, mic in hand. “Amateurs, are you ready? Audience, are you ready? Because of our special guest, we’re starting with Gargoyle — the first superhero to ever compete in A.W.W.!”

Explosive applause rolled through the arena. The other contenders lined the ramp, waving him forward. Gar ran through them, beat his wings once, and flew into the ring. The chanting started almost immediately.

“GARGOYLE! GARGOYLE! GARGOYLE!”

“Next, The Dancing Cavalier!” Robert announced.

A tall, muscular man in colorful tights cartwheeled and backflipped into the ring.

“Next, Mustang Pilot!”

A slimmer contender in blue leggings slipped under the ropes and tried to hype up the crowd. 

Mustang Pilot smiled at Gar. “Hey! It’s me—”

“AND!” Robert shouted, “the last starter — Slipshod!”

A massive, bearded mountain of muscle stomped into the ring, pointing aggressively at Gar.

Robert stepped between them. “You all know the rules. No serious harm. Make it a good show. Lastman standing wins. New contenders enter every thirty seconds. We’re live with MasterBlaster on YouTube and TanyaTakedown on Instagram. When you hear the bell — give us everything you’ve got!”

The crowd roared. Robert exited the ring as the two streamers positioned themselves for the best angles.

The bell rang.

The other three exploded into action. The Dancing Cavalier launched himself at Mustang Pilot while Slipshod charged straight at Gar.

Gar, still unsure how this worked, held his arms out and backed up. Slipshod sneered. “So the stone giant is scared of me?”

“Uh, no. I just don’t know how this works.”

“Oh, so you’re an idiot. Perfect — I’ll toss you out first!” Slipshod grabbed Gar’s wing and tried to throw him. Gar didn’t budge. After a moment of futile tugging, Gar casually grabbed the man and slammed him to the mat.

“Don’t worry,” Gar said kindly. “You didn’t hurt me.”

Slipshod scrambled up, furious. “I’m gonna take you down!”

Meanwhile, Mustang Pilot had already thrown the Dancing Cavalier out of the ring. The announcer called it immediately. “And Dancing Cavalier is out!”

Slipshod rammed Gar again, but the stone hero didn’t move an inch. The big man groaned and heaved, trying to shove him. Gar simply reached down, lifted Slipshod like a small box, and casually tossed him over the ropes. The giant landed hard on the padded floor outside.

“Oh! And there goes Slipshod!” one of the streamers cheered.

Gar frowned. Surely this can’t be that easy.

A new contender jumped into the ring and charged him. Gar caught the man’s arm and threw him out as well. “And Galactic Bomb just bombed big time!”

Mustang Pilot approached with a friendly smile. “Wow, you’re good. Hey, do you remember me? I—”

The crowd suddenly screamed. Security scrambled. Something crashed down from above, landing hard between Gar and Mustang Pilot, shoving them both back.

EB appeared on the stage, holding a glowing magical egg like a weapon. “Well, well, well… Mr. Kitty shows up.”

The lion-masked man stood tall in the center of the ring, staring directly into the nearest camera. “This battle has just begun!”

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