The Infinite Bk. 02 Ch. 04

Chapter 4:

Nightlife

The hour was late, the city was dark, and Noah was sitting against Bella's headboard, enjoying her oral devotion to his manhood. She varied between voracious slurping and tender lovemaking, using the softness of her mouth to project her lust while giving his shaft and balls the attention they deserved. Her head rested comfortably on his lap like she could have fallen asleep.

Bella was rebuilding Noah's erection after his most recent climax, and her pussy, glazed like a cinnamon roll, welcomed his massaging fingers as he stirred his seed inside her. He also massaged her ears like they were a weakness to be used against her. He wouldn't give her any rest or let the intensity of her sensations dull.

Noah looked to the window, hearing metal striking metal. "I think someone is fighting outside."

"Oh, it's just the Red Revelry," Bella mumbled between slobbers.

"Red Revelry?"

She began stroking him to free her mouth. "That's what they call it. It happens in the nights leading up to Knight's Day; applicants to the academy going out into the streets and fighting under cover of darkness. They'll talk about it down in the bar, bragging about how they get bored waiting for enrollment and want to indulge their thirst for blood and violence."

The priest's words now made sense. Had Noah wandered the streets at night with his weapons, someone might have believed him to be looking for a fight.

"I'm going to go check it out," he said as he pulled away from Bella.

"What? No! Just let the soldiers deal with it!"

He got to his feet and began pulling on his clothes. "I'm not going out to take part or try to stop it; I just want to watch. It sounds too interesting to pass up."

Bella embraced him as she had down in the bar, with her wandering hands finding his erect member. "Come back to bed. You can do whatever you want to me."

"Hmmm, if you say so, then."

Noah broke free from her hold and walked over to a robe hanging on the wall. He removed the linen belt and a scarf from the top of the nearby bureau. Bella didn't object as he turned the scarf into a blindfold, nor did she resist Noah pushing her down onto her stomach and tying her hands to the headboard. He could hear her breathing quicken as he once more moved around the room, her bunny ears quivering as she tried to discern his actions.

"Do you know what I'm holding in my hand right now?" Noah asked.

"N-no," she replied.

He returned to the bed with one of the candles that lit the room and kneeled over her. "This will give you a hint."

He tilted the candle, making Bella yelp as globs of hot wax splashed onto her exposed back. She shuddered, her breathing frantic. He moved the candle down, dribbling wax onto her lower back and luscious cheeks. Every splatter made her whimper, but she didn't complain as he left twin trails of wax running down the backs of her legs and on the bottoms of her feet.

"It-it's a candle?"

"That's right," he said while rubbing it between her legs, getting the bottom nice and slick.

He gave Bella no warning, instead just letting her gasp in surprise when he inserted the bottom end into her anus and positioned it so that it stood upright.

"As the candle burns, the wax will continue to melt and trickle down, ever so slowly." He leaned forward, whispering into her ear. "You'll probably begin to feel it all too soon, the scalding drops running across your skin, the heat of the flame as it burns down the length. You have to keep it standing straight up, as letting it tilt or shake will make it even worse. I'm going to go out for a bit. Hopefully, I'll get back in time to pull it out. When I arrive, if the candle is still inserted, I'll give you a big reward."

For safety's sake, he extinguished the candle before he put it inside her, but she didn't need to know that. Waiting for something that would never come, the unfulfilled anticipation of that first hot drop reaching her anus, would be better for keeping her focused.

"Wait, Jake! Don't go!"

"I'll be back soon enough."

With his invisibility activated, he climbed out the window and disappeared into the night.

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The waxing moon shone down on Colbrand, with clouds stretching their shadows across the city. Crickets chirped, hiding the sound of blades colliding. Bloodlust filled the air. They moved from shadow to shadow, masked brawlers chasing nothing more than a good time. Only the armed took part in the merriment, but the homeless, sleeping in the streets, still did their best to ignore and be ignored.

In an empty road, a man darted between pools of darkness, eyes scanning every surface and corner for signs of a possible adversary. There was no mission, no quest, nothing to be gained but everything to lose, yet he could not help himself.

His daggers cried for blood, even though he had quenched their thirst earlier in the evening. Ordinary prey wouldn't satisfy their cravings. No, the gutter trash and homeless would simply rust the blades and dull the edges with their filthy viscera. Instead, his daggers wanted something that would fight back and make them earn their reward.

From within an alley, the man spotted his next challenge. Another assailant ran down the road with a bastard sword at his hip. The man lay in wait for his enemy to approach. He drew his blades and twitched as he heard metal scrape against leather. The adrenaline pumping through him made every sound seem louder than a crack of thunder.

His foe finally came within range, and the man leaped out like a spider from its den. One of his daggers struck the enemy's sword, drawn in the blink of an eye, while the second was stopped by a hand grabbing the man's wrist. They stared each other down through their masks, their arms shaking as they tried to overpower each other. Their breathing was focused and silent, neither wanting the other to know how much they were struggling.

The man jumped back and took a stance, ready to block any incoming slashes. "Chase," he said.

"Becker," replied the swordsman.

The sharing of names, rather than etiquette, was a taunt. Whoever lost would know the name of their killer, but their identity would remain a secret from the world.

The first swing came, Becker's sword catching the moonlight as it careened toward Chase. It was a one-handed attack, so Chase blocked with one dagger and used the other to slash at Becker's hand. He pulled away before the blade could reach him and attempted an uppercut slash. Chase dodged the swing and lost one of his daggers from the ensuing kick.

Overhead, a cloud moved over the moon, and its deep shadow eclipsed the two warriors. Chase disappeared into the darkness, but Becker sprinted after him. He couldn't let him retrieve his dagger. A handful of dirt hit his face, and while his mask blocked most of it, his concentration was broken, and Chase lunged with both blades. One blade was deflected, and the other missed Becker's throat but left a deep cut on his shoulder.

The cloud passed overhead, and the two men could see. Once, twice, three times, they attacked each other, steel against steel. An untrained eye would only see intermittent sparks in the blackness, but both warriors were dodging and blocking each other's attacks with unhindered skill. The victor soon claimed his title, Becker circumventing Chase's daggers and slashing him from shoulder to hip. Blood sprayed like a fountain, and Chase's heart stopped moments after he collapsed.

Becker took a shuddering breath, savoring the taste of victory. Violence for the sake of violence was a delicious sin. The euphoria and excitement twisted his thoughts, and the sound of his heart beating in his ears prevented him from hearing the gust of air behind him. The next instant, he was airborne, knocked off his feet by an almighty kick. All of his ribs were broken, and his life was snuffed out upon landing as if the cold ground had sucked the essence from his body.

Standing where Becker had just moments ago was a beastman, and his animal traits were on full display. A pair of wings adorned his back, each more than ten feet long. His feet were enlarged, his heels raised off the ground, and great talons replaced his simian toes. A long scarf hid his face, and he wore no armor.

He used his feet to pull off Chase's mask, then muttered a curse in annoyance. The man was too old to be aiming for the academy, just some killer wanting to join in on the carnage. The beastman gave a flap of his mighty wings, propelling himself through the air towards Becker, and removed his mask, only to be once more disappointed. While Becker looked like an academy applicant, his face was too different from the beastman's. Nobles' letters of recommendation usually included a physical description of the candidates. He at least needed someone with a similar eye color to pass off as a candidate.

"What a waste."

He took to the sky, searching for the next fight.

----------

"Ah, motherfuckers..."

The words were spoken from a mouth caked in dirt, resulting from sleeping face-down in an alley. Foley groaned with every breath, trying to remember the last thing he saw.

Let's see, I got to the bar, had a drink... something, something... those guys threw me out. Flying, flying, flying, ground.

Normally he would have slept till noon the next day, but a rock was poking him in the ribs and gave him only a shallow blackout. There was something else that woke him up. He felt like a wineskin about to burst. A dark alley was as good a place as any, so he pissed on the side of the bar while cursing his enemies and the soil he'd bury them in. He staggered out of the alley, still tipsy. The city was as dark as a tomb, and the sounds of battle were little more than background noise. The clouds shifted, allowing more moonlight to light up the road. There appeared to be someone standing nearby.

"Oi!" he grunted. No response. "Oi!" he said again. The stranger had his back to Foley and was holding a sword. "Oi, you deaf bastard! Open your damn ears!"

The stranger looked over. He was tall and lanky, though he had broad shoulders and a masked face. "Shut your mouth, dwarf. Don't you know how to play?"

"Just answer me the first time! Where's an inn? I still got to sleep this off."

The man began to approach. His steps were quick and erratic. "You're ruining my night. One more word and I'll have your tongue."

"Just give me some directions and fuck off, then I won't have to put the fear of God in you."

The man swung his sword with a snarl, and what should have been a blade rending flesh was steel on steel. Rather than a sword, Foley defended with a metal-plated buckler. The man hissed in surprise, seeing what had only moments ago been unsteady legs turn into an unmoving brace. Foley didn't appear to be challenged, and his speed was worrying. At a mere four feet, the intoxicated dwarf should have been at least knocked off balance.

"You're insisting on a fisting, boy-o, and I am more than ready to make some terrible life choices right now," Foley growled. In response, he closed the distance and hurled a powerful right hook, only to miss by a shameful margin. "Ah fuck." The swordsman stepped back and lunged again with a downward slash. It was once more stopped by Foley's shield, with no apparent effort expended on his end. "Let's try this again." He knocked the sword out of the way and went in before another punch, only to miss and hit nothing but air. "I swear, I'm usually better than this!"

His foe kept out of range and evaluated his options. He couldn't determine whether Foley was just putting on an act. He seemed like he could barely stand, but he was strong and fast, if only for a moment. It had to be a trap to lure him in. As he sifted through his thoughts, Foley lowered his head and groaned.

"Why is everything spinning?" He then vomited onto the road, to the disgust of his enemy. "Goddamn clams, I knew they smelled off."

He wasn't faking it, and even if he was, the swordsman had now found the good fight he was looking for. He charged in, his blade swinging at Foley from all angles and with deadly speed, yet the dwarf blocked every attack. On the other hand, every punch hit nothing but air, and he only carried a hunting knife.

"Ah fuck it. Spider Shield!" The buckler on his arm began to glow with a spider-web pattern, and when his enemy once more swung his sword, he realized that he couldn't pull away. The blade was stuck to the shield's surface as if with magnetism. "Gotcha now, you slippery chickenshit!"

It was the first accurate punch Foley managed to throw, his boulder-like fist finding its mark and striking the man's balls. A scream was released, its initial pitch like a little girl stung by a bee, then dropping to a bull groaning from a stomach ache. The man fell to the ground, releasing his sword to tend to his crushed pride.

"Oh God, why would you do that? WHY?!"

"Ah, quit your bitchin'."

Foley grabbed him by the collar, and before the man could react, the dwarf headbutted him with dizzying force, breaking his nose in the process. The first blow, like a mountain goat's horns, became a woodpecker's barrage. Foley struck him repeatedly, with every blow bloodying the man's mask. Foley eventually dropped him so he could catch his breath.

"That's for insulting my ma! Or was that those other guys? Who are you again?"

"Halt! Nobody move!"

Foley looked over his shoulder to see an amber-haired woman approaching, garbed in polished armor and holding a sword in one hand and a torch in the other. She was in her early twenties, just a few years older than Foley. Her sudden arrival sent Foley's fallen enemy scrambling to his feet and limping off to fight another day.

"State your name!" she barked.

"I don't know what backwater village you come from, but where I come from, people give their name before asking for others."

"Well here in Uther, when a knight asks you your name, you damn well better give it."

"I'm Jim Foley, happy now?"

"I am Lady Helena Frigga, Silver Knight of the Utheric Order, and it's my job to arrest blood-drunk fools like you."

"Hey, I'm only the fun kind of drunk!"

"Either way, fighting in the streets is illegal."

"That ladyboy with the pigsticker tried to rob me, you daft cunt!"

She kicked him in the chest and knocked him onto his back. "Consider yourself under arrest. You're lucky I don't take your head for that little remark. Any last words?"

Foley slowly got back to his feet and staggered over to her, hunched over and struggling to breathe. "Three, actually." He dropped his head and emptied the contents of his stomach onto her feet. "Ugh! Fucking clams!"

----------

Five figures stood atop a tower near the castle, garbed in cloaks and masks. Unlike the simple cloth disguises the brawlers in the street were using, these were white ceramic, each depicting doll-like hollow faces and decorated with three lines of a foreign language like pseudo tattoos. The letters and their locations varied from mask to mask.

"Track Grond down, kill any witnesses," said the leader, standing in the middle of the group.

"What about participants in the Red Revelry?" a woman to his side asked.

"Avoid if possible and kill when needed."

"We should take this chance to enjoy ourselves. The knights are busy dealing with their own applicants. We can do whatever we want, and they'll never know we were here," the tallest member of the group said.

"We have our orders, in and out without any contact. We can't let anyone know we were here," another argued.

"We'll be killing witnesses anyway. What's wrong with having some fun if there is no one around to see it?"

"Oritz, silence yourself," the leader barked. "Your soul is filthy."

"Relax, I'll keep my eye out for Grond. I'll even bring you his head."

"Were you not even paying attention to our orders?" the woman hissed.

She stepped towards Oritz, and the leader stopped her. "Tora, Oritz, that's enough. We're just here to retrieve the elixir before Grond ends up using it. It's our job to save him, not kill him. You will follow orders."

"Whatever you say."

The five figures then scattered to different sections of the city.

----------

"I should probably head back and untie Bella."

Noah repeatedly muttered those words to himself, much in the way he would search for the motivation to get out of bed in the morning, and every step he took was another tap of the snooze button. He was halfway through his mana reserves but wanted to continue his walk. He had already witnessed multiple clashes between applicants, as well as any knights who tried to intervene.

These collisions occurred as quietly as possible, no matter who took part. No alarms, whistles, or drums were sounding, and no one was using magic aside from a few warrior and monk spells. Noah studied everyone's styles, searching for patterns and weaknesses and any moves he could add to his own repertoire. His magic let him observe the fights from up close without anyone knowing, the perfect spectator's spell. He never released it or dropped his guard, even while crouched in the darkest alleys or perched above the quietest streets.

At the moment, he was watching a pair of swordsmen duel on top of a building. Every inch of skin was covered, and their tightened clothes prevented any flapping that might hinder them or give them away. The only way to tell them apart was by the type of swords they were wielding. Their moves were slick and unending, neither stopping to calculate nor reassess. When one felt at a disadvantage, he'd dart away to another rooftop, and they'd collide again on a different footing. The moonlight gleamed on their blades, and the sparks from the colliding edges were like flashes of starlight.

Noah studied every detail of the moment, from which hand the swordsmen favored to the humidity of the evening. He'd scrutinize them with near-obsessive focus, trying to figure out how they contributed to the scene before him and then elaborating on how they came to be. He'd guess what the two fighters were thinking and look for any hints as to the kind of men they were outside of battle. How had they been raised? What brought them to fight like this? For something to entertain him like this was rare. So many factors had come together to produce this peculiar event, so many experiences and emotions; it was like it had its own soul. Noah felt more interested in the souls of moments than the souls of people.

Whoosh! An arrow flew over his shoulder, striking one of the swordsmen in the chest. Noah spun around, spotting an armored knight perched atop a street lamp with a bow in his hands. Noah worried that his invisibility had come undone, but the spell was working as it should. Regardless, he rolled out of the way as another arrow flew by and pierced the second warrior's shoulder. The first had already collapsed, but the second could still escape.

He jumped off the roof, into the street below, and took off, weaving through shadows. The knight was already in pursuit, and Noah, wanting to see how it would end, joined in the chase. He stuck to the rooftops while the warrior and knight sprinted down the streets. The warrior had a shrinking head start, and the knight launched an arrow at every opportunity. Beneath the vulture's gaze, the hyena succumbed to the lion's claws.

The knight departed with the warrior's body, and Noah stepped down into the street only when everything was silent. The result was rather disappointing. He had been hoping the warrior would put up more of a fight.

'My mana is getting low. I guess I should head back to Bella.'

He began the trip back to the Knight's Sheath, but his mind was eventually pulled from Bella and drawn to another girl; her voice was even more pained and fearful. He looked into the nearby alley, seeing a cloaked man on top of a homeless woman, covering her mouth with one hand, and ripping at her clothes with the other. He stood and watched while his mind formulated a decision. Beneath the film of magic, the violent scene was reflected in his indifferent eyes while his breathing and heartbeat were calm as could be.