59 WAYS OF THE WORDS (1/2)
There were less than ten seconds left on the test clock, and though many hoped Lirzod to display a knack for the narrow escape, they weren't entirely sure of it happening. All those who knew Bruiser comprehended what was transpiring in the ring was not a joke.
As many eyes witnessed everything taking place in the ring, Bruiser endeavored to claw his way back and take the lead. Lirzod's teeth, however, chewed into the tail and dragged the headband along the tail, also bringing bits of flesh with it to the tail end before sputtering the flesh and the headband high into the air, thereby giving himself a victory that was three minutes in the making and also a license to move on to the next deck.
As the bloodied headband rose high into the air, the audiences were baby monkeys wondering at the soul of their late elder monkey climbing the skies, seemingly headed to the heavens, for they gawked at the headband with their uvulas exposed—so much that they ran the risk of bringing out their hearts into the open.
”W-We've won! We've won!”
”Good heavens! Bruiser's streak has ended!”
”I can't believe it!”
”I'm rich now!”
Given how Lirzod's victory came on the heels of several wins that had resulted in heavy losses for the bettors, jouissance oversaturated the hearts of men—in particular of those who had bet in Lirzod's favor—and spread glee through blood. Some saw the test as the dethronement of a tyrannical king, but a few wondered as if this test was a tale of two kings wrapped into one.
Beating a cat was one thing, but biting a cat was an unpopular thing to do on the twelfth deck, yet none seem to have cared, for they were all bathing in the burgeoning bliss of triumph.
Meanwhile, like a frog that knew not of its own suicide-in-progress through gradual stewing, Jehez froze into a frog-still as regret tumefied his face a bit too much to let his mouth utter double meows and signal the end of the deck test. Nevertheless, none of the audiences, at the moment, was really in a mood to give a damn or two about such a hackneyed course of action even though it was an enforced rule; however, they were all in the mood to do something else, something they'd give all their damns about, which was collecting their individual profits.
Without a wait, the throngs of starry-eyed bettors made a beeline to the betting counter where Jehez stood, appearing utterly despondent. Having so many men storm toward him at once was something he had gotten fully used to, but now, in his eyes, each of those men in the line was worse than blood-sucking leeches, for he had to prepare much more than just ears to bear whatever that would be coming out of their mouths.
Only the great referees that had their names etched on the walls of a Hall of Honor were capable of surfing through the vocal tides of audiences more often than not, for they knew the ways of the words. Jehez, however, lacked any such flair, especially right after a test that not only cost him coins worth in gold, but also peace possibly worth much more.
”Hey, sweetie, how's your heart?” the first one in the line, a tall and bulky man with a big beard, shot an arrow through Jehez's heart with his way of words. Even though Jehez had been preparing himself, he suffered as a whirling arrow wounded his heart.
”Don't worry, sir. It'll only age a year for every lost bet,” another man in the line sarcastically said, further deepening the puncturing of the referee's heart.
”We hope the deficit won't bring about a death toll tonight.”
”I hate your loss with all my heart, but I still gotta collect my profits, or my heart would end up hating itself. At least, please do take inspiration from this loss, sir.”
As the voluble yet ribald voices of men racked his heart, Jehez doctored his expressions, from within, and pulled off a poker face, albeit with an unsmiling, pressing effort. After checking the token number, he dropped eighteen copper coins in the hands of the first guy without even looking.
”What's with that attitude, sweetie?” the first guy in the line said in a teasing tone, ”You gotta give them with some love and attention.”
”Yeah, where's the love?” some other men in the line backed the first guy.
”Show us some love, sweetie.”
Jehez gnashed his teeth in utter frustration.
”Hey, look, sir's face is already changing color,” another man innocently said, ”I guess we don't need to cook long enough to see some brown show up on the face.”
”Pfft! Puhahaha.” Many men laughed till their stomachs twitched.
At this point, Jehez's intestines had long turned super-sour from shame, and he could only hide so much of it. After all, the loss, as he'd feared, was now surely turning into something that was more than just the sum of its parts.
Not everyone in the line participated in cooking Jehez's pride and confidence, but nearly all of them enjoyed watching his face change colors and bring about the ugly shades.
In the meantime, Lirzod stepped out of the ring and let go of Bruiser who then ran away no differently than a rat that lost its tail. Meowing aggressively, Bruiser jumped on everyone's ass he came across, scaring the people into skedaddling away in separate ways. His claws tore through their clothes and cut through their skins at places they couldn't directly see with their own eyes.
”Shit! The loss broke his nous! Everyone, run! Run for your skin!”
Though most of the line at the betting counter was still intact, some feared Bruiser coming in their direction and chose to run away. In a matter of seconds, most men in the hall were thrown into chaos. Some lost their nerves and let Bruiser have his way—gifting men with several scars. One such luckless soul, the plump-lipped man, hit his ankles and fell to the ground. The sound of impact caught Bruiser's attention. He raced straight to him in long strides.
”No,” the plump-lipped man shouted, but Bruiser's claw slashed through his lips and shut him up. It was then the plump-lipped man fully understood the definition of savageness and that the savagery of Bruiser wouldn't spare anyone, including him.
Lirzod, who was all eyes this whole time, was a bit disappointed with Bruiser's actions. ”I hoped my bite would deepen its sense of right and wrong, but it actually ended up worsening it.”
Sariyu walked up to him, running a hand through her hair which made her look somewhat sultry, ”I thought you were a goner, but you hung in there. I guess, even for you, victory is never out of reach until the last moment.”
”Of course. I wasn't playing around, you know.” Lirzod gave a half-smile. ”That cat meant business.”
”It's your fault for choosing such a cat,” she stuck her nose in the air, ”Why didn't you use the rattail?”
”Uh,” Lirzod sighed, ”it's a long story.”
”Then make it short.”
”Oh wait, it's a short story.”
Sariyu narrowed her eyes. ”Then make it shorter.”
”Okay, it's a shorter story.”
In a flash, Sariyu pinched him on his forehead, making him utter an ouch and pull his hand back. ”Don't use your stupid-smarts on me.” She went for his other arm again.
”Ow, ow,” Lirzod almost sprang on his feet and took a step back. ”If I had your pinching skills, I might have done better in the ring.” He looked a bit downhearted.
”Better? You've won, idiot,” she crossed her arms across her chest, ”You should be happier. Gain some glow in your face.”
”I know, but the test gave me plenty of scars,” Lirzod sulked, ”though most of them aren't throbbing as much as they did a minute back.”
”What are you talking about?” Sariyu gave his wounds a once-over. ”I don't know how much they are hurting. Surely, they aren't petty, but time can easily heal those scars.”