“And we won’t get arrested for it?”
“Nope.” Roberto laughed. “You might even get a few cheers.”
“Are you sure this will work?”
“You need to subdue a beast, right?” Roberto winked at him.
Hektor looked around nervously, the din from the crowd gnawing at his nerves. The bright lights overhead nearly blinded him, and the artificial smoke from the fog machines made his eyes water. The bass from the music vibrating out of giant speakers set his teeth rattling, and his nose protested at the smell of the dozens of unwashed bodies coming from the spectators.
According to Roberto, this was normal in this sport they called ‘professional wrestling.’
He wondered what was professional about wearing shiny tight shorts and boots.
“When our ancestors set forth the Final Tasks, I doubt this is what they had in mind. “
“But it does follow the letter of the law, if not the spirit. Look,” he nodded across the ring. “There’s your beast!”
Ding ding ding!
“Welcome to the NMA Pro Wrestling Challenger’s Night!” the man in the middle of the ring—the announcer, Roberto explained—greeted, sending the crowd into a frenzy. “As you know, once a year, we invite local talent to come and show us what they got by taking on our champions!”
The audience once again reacted in a vociferous chorus of cheers, chants, stomping, and jeers.
“Our first challenger of the night, hailing from the distant land of Drakkoria, Hektor “The Dragon” Jones!”
“You told them where I was from?” he exclaimed.
Roberto brushed him off. “It’s all part of your character and backstory. The crowd will love it. Look! Here comes your beast!”
“And his opponent for tonight,” the announcer continued. “Our former champion, Edgar ‘The Brazen Beast’ Calaway!”
It didn’t seem possible, but the noise from the audience grew even louder and more boisterous. The overhead spotlights swung around the arena before landing on the curtain coveringthe entrance to the backstage. When the first electric notes of a song blasted through the speakers, the noise from the audience reached even greater heights.
The curtains parted and a tall, hulking figure dressed in animal print pants and boots sauntered out, playing to the crowd as they greeted him with enthusiasm that could have brought the roof down. As he made his way to the ring, Hektor swallowed, hard.
Could he really do this?
He had to.
“Is Zara in the audience?” He squinted, attempting to scan the crowd, but the lights continued to blind him and obscure his vision.
“Yes, Pam assured me they’d be here, though the gods only know how she got Zara to come.” Roberto pushed him forward. “Now, go fight him!”
Hektor staggered forward, colliding into Calaway and he slammed into Hektor, chest first. The force of it and his lack of preparation knocked Hektor backward, but he quickly regained his footing. The man in a black and white striped shirt—the referee, according to Roberto—stepped in between them, blew a whistle, and pushed them away from each other.
Focus.
Calaway was a mountain of a man, but he was no match for a Drakkon. Aphrodite had only glamoured his appearance, but not his strength or power. Also, he was trained in hand-to-hand combat as an enforcer, so beating Calaway would be easy.
Too easy.
And that was the problem.
Hektor had never fought a human before. He was afraid that he might use too much strength and crush Calaway like an overripebabacofruit.
It would make a horrific ending to the match, not to mention, a great big mess.
All I have to do is subdue him for three counts, and I win.
