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What was supposed to be a single patrol had quickly turned into a duel. No, it was more like a sparring session. With the man who put him in the infirmary more times than Zanka could count. He stopped keeping count after his impromptu visits to the Cleaners hospital wing exceeded double digits. Poor Eishia was alarmed last time he (barely) made it past the door and collapsed.
But, even if he had yet to win, he couldn’t stop fighting him. Because Jabber sought him out, too. They were playing a dangerous, high stakes tug of war, where Zanka tried to be better than his enemy.
Although, lately, those stakes got impossibly higher. Everytime Mankira’s claws buried in his flesh, every time Assistaff broke through Jabber’s defenses and actually did some damage, he felt more alive than when he fought against trash beasts.
In a sense, Zanka became aware that his unhealthy fixation with besting that annoying Raider at least once was becoming somewhat of a problem; and not just for him, but for Team Akuta in a whole. He kept coming back to the base with bruises and scrapes, sometimes injuries that took days, sometimes even weeks to heal and Enjin (and others) needed Zanka at his best for their job.
So, knowing that he was inconveniencing his team, the logical step he should have taken was to stop seeking out unnecessary fights, right?
Unfortunately, there was just something about Jabber that pissed Zanka off every time they crossed paths and he couldn’t simply back down, tuck the rails between his legs (figuratively) and make a run for it. Zanka was a disgraced son of the Nijiku family, he wasn’t strong nor particularly talented in the art of combat, but he trained like a man possessed. He adhered to his own rules of discipline, which also included a way of living his life without regrets.
Lately, however his list of regrets kept on getting bigger and bigger every time he almost didn’t make it back to the base because of Jabber’s latest lethal experiments.
So, Zanka vowed to himself that this would be the last time he fought Jabber outside of official business, when the Cleaners and Raiders came to trading blows, like it happened last time in that trash beast.
He needed to get his head back in the game. The sooner he focused on getting stronger and doing his job, the better. That crazy masochist was just another rival, just like Hyo was.
Sooner or later, Zanka will get over this unexpected rivalry, too. Because in the end, he was still just an average man and his rivals were exceptional in their own ways; but that was fine. Zanka would get there someday and he’d seek them out to challenge them, one by one and finally bag those hard-earned wins.
“Zaanka ~ Stop spacing out, man!” Zanka jumped back in the nick of time and the claws left deep scratches on the ground. Jabber stepped away a few paces, leering. “That’s no fun if you just keep on evading. I wanna try out this new poison I specially crafted for you, Zan-Zan.” Did he pout slightly or was Zanka imagining things?
How much more irritating could this guy get?! He lunged forward, his intention clear as day, swiping with Assistaff at Jabber’s midsection. “Stop calling me that!”
Jabber parried his staff with one hand and he swatted at it like one would swat at a gnat. Zanka gulped heavily as Jabber unleashed arcing cascade of slashes, precise and deadly. Zanka’s instincts told him to duck and back away as fast as he could, but then Mankira’s claws caught onto something.
Zanka paled as his favorite blue tassel earring got sliced off cleanly, the puffy part fell at his feet.
He grit his teeth, grateful that wasn’t his ear or worse, neck. He can’t keep getting distracted. He owed Enjin and the Cleaners for giving a defective guy a place to call home. They gave him a chance to prove himself, to prove his worth. This unsightly fascination had to end, one way or another.
Jabber snickered cockily. “Pay attention, Zanka. I’d hate to cut off your pretty head on accident.”
“Why, because that would rob you of your entertainment?” He chose to ignore the comment about his pretty head. This was hardly a first time Jabber said something oddly sweet with a nasty smile. It’s just how he was and Zanka shouldn’t seek any deeper meaning behind the drivel that came out of a Raider’s – his enemy’s uncouth mouth.
Zanka pointed his staff at Jabber. “Jabber. I’m not coming to ‘play’ with you again. As I am now, I can’t beat you, so it’s a waste of my time to come here until I’m certain I have the power necessary to beat you into a bloody pulp,” he exclaimed soberly, lowering his Lovely Assistaff.
“Hey, man. Are you thinkin’ of ditchin’ me? Seriously? I thought we had something, Zan- Zan!” Jabber’s moping tone had to be pretense, though it still made him (almost) smile.
“I told you not to call me that, shithead!!” Zanka leapt into air, preparing to put his everything into the blow. He hoped he’d stun Jabber long enough to get away. Down below, Jabber’s magenta eyes shone with maniacal glee, already preparing to repel Assistaff’s strike no doubt.
The force behind the blow was sure to knock him down, albeit temporarily. “That’s more like it! Zanka, beat me up like you mean it. Hit me with all you’ve got!”
As if Zanka would ever purposely hold back against such a formidable opponent. Zanka’s high velocity descent was met with resistance; just as he predicted. The tiled, aged floor beneath Jabber’s feet cracked as he deflected Zanka’s blow with his claws. It held, but barely. With some luck, Jabber will fall through and Zanka could make a beeline for the nearest exit.
He prepared for a tactical retreat, as they fought, tooth and nail, Jabber’s exhilarated laugher echoed in the building. The more Zanka pushed back, the more the floor broke. Zanka was nearing his limit; something had to give and he sure as hell hoped it would be the busted stone.
Their clash, just like all others were so different from the mock battles against the Cleaners or the trash beasts and Zanka had failed to notice Jabber purposely dislocated his own shoulder. The sharp sting as the left claw swiped at his back made him hiss. The cut was shallow, but Zanka didn’t fear he’d bleed out to death; Jabber liked to play with him. He’d leave him on the brink of death, blow him a kiss and flee the scene before other Cleaners came to help him.
Whatever ‘cocktail’ was infused in those claws was more potent than anything Jabber did to him before; he wasn’t in pain, but he couldn’t move a muscle. Instantly, his measured control over his instrument was severed and Assistaff reverted back to its base form, but he was still clenching it between his fingers, somehow. Jabber had likely reset his shoulder back in the socket because next he grabbed him by the waist as Zanka’s uncooperative limbs gave out due to the nerve numbing poison wreaking havoc inside his body.
If Zanka wasn’t so thoroughly paralyzed, he would have whacked Jabber for his boldness. Although, he made a shocking discovery as Jabber laid him down neatly. Zanka could move his eyes; and that’s how he saw it.
A huge chunk of the roof was falling down, preceded by even bigger pile of enormous, rusted pipes. Zanka was disabled momentarily and he couldn’t even move his mouth to warn the idiotic Raider of the impending danger. They’ll get flattened like pancakes and there was nothing Zanka could do about it. Damn it all, he wanted to live more! He wasn’t done yet! This cannot be his end, can it?!
It was a shame, that he’d die out here like some chump. If Zanka could, he would chuckle at the bitter irony of it all. The crumbling roof broke apart further as more and more trash fell from the sky. Jabber, who was examining his face the entire time had looked up. Instantaneously, his expression shifted. For the first time Zanka was acquainted with the Raider, Jabber looked stumped, taken aback.
“Dude, you’ve got to be shittin’ me. This was supposed to be a safe zone!” Jabber’s eyes flickered between the exits, the falling rubble and trash and Zanka, who lay motionless on the ground.
Zanka calmly surmised that Jabber would leave him; it was something he’d expect from someone as deranged and cold-blooded. Zanka kept his eyes trained on his impending doom rather than strain his eyes and see Jabber scamper off into a safe distance. Jabber must have ran off by now, Zanka knew first-hand how fast he was.
He won’t close his eyes. The noise from the falling debris was now unmistakable, heralding Zanka’s pathetic end. Then, unexpectedly something dark and extremely pointy swooped in, obscuring his vision. It happened in the blink of an eye and Zanka wasn’t sure if he was hallucinating or Mankira was really spread out defensively like a shield around him, Jabber crouched near him.
A whole mountain of trash and debris rained down on Jabber’s fully extended instrument. Zanka couldn’t scream, but Jabber screamed plenty for both of them as Mankira repelled the falling rubble, one heavy mass of garbage after another.
Jabber maintained full control over his weapon and he did it with that signature goofy-ass batshit crazy grin of his. Truly, this is why Zanka despised geniuses. Even when they were facing perilous circumstances, those gifted morons took the danger in stride and rolled with it. However, just when it looked like Zanka wasn’t going to die (just yet), the already fractured stone gave way, which wasn’t surprising in the slightest.
Zanka’s grip on Assistaff loosened due to the toxins and he bit into his tongue from the frustration, watching his instrument be swept far off elsewhere while he and Jabber were falling.
The trash and debris came down on them evermore; Jabber held against the torrent so far, but he couldn’t keep it up forever. Zanka was weaponless and paralyzed; and he never felt more useless than in this moment, being protected by Jabber.
Eventually, Zanka’s body hit the base floor hard, the impact had almost knocked him out if it weren’t for the protective charm. Zanka thanked Remlin in his mind for the protection, although what good it will do him since he’s still not able to move freely.
His body had somehow withstood the landing; but he wasn’t safe. Jabber and the gigantic piles of junk and broken roof came down next. “Ya alright, Zan-Zan?!” Jabber inquired, landing smoothly on his feet, sparing Zanka a fleeting glance. “Ah, right. Can’t talk! Don’t worry, this is nothin’!”
It didn’t look like nothing to him from where he laid, safeguarded by Mankira’s enormous crustacean-like claws. Zanka counted up to ninety-six seconds, watching in horror as the unthinkable happened and Mankira’s right side of the shielding shattered, snapped and bent under the accumulated weight.
Whatever happened to the instrument had badly reflected on Jabber, too. The more he pushed back, the more could Zanka see the chinks in Jabber’s shield. How much longer could he hold on, with at least two claws out of commission?
This was hopeless. More than fifty tons of garbage and rubble would bury them both. Zanka didn’t understand him. They were enemies. Jabber disabled him during their one-on-one duel. He had lost and the Raiders were survivors. By all accounts, Zanka should be dead by now, squashed like a bug; and yet Jabber didn’t leave when he had the chance.
Understanding Jabber’s train of thoughts was beyond his reach, just like his Lovely Assistaff, damn it. Zanka couldn’t do anything; he watched Jabber struggle futilely.
Jabber must have struggled to keep the massive blocks from crushing them for quite some time because Zanka’s limbs uncomfortably tingled as if a million tiny ants were inside him. He tried sitting up, but he couldn’t do it. The feeling in his toes and fingers was slowly returning. Zanka opened his mouth, hoping he could form words instead of gibberish. Time was of essence.
“Get away. Get lost. Leave me. I didn’t ask you to stick your neck out for me!” He exclaimed scathingly, as he eyed Jabber for his reaction. That asshole had merely smirked, his gaze never straying from Mankira.
He forced himself to sit up and try to help at least if that stubborn idiot refused to budge and save his skin. Zanka summoned his instrument, but moments later he realized it wouldn’t – couldn’t come to him, not under current unfavorable conditions.
There was still hope left. They could hold out until help came. Zanka propelled himself upwards and on unsteady legs, he wrapped his hands around Jabber’s waist to secure his previously shaky balance.
Jabber blinked in confusion and he peered at him curiously. Zanka felt the heat creep upon his neck and face, but he couldn’t falter. Since Jabber decided to stick around until the bitter end (which would end likely in their ugly, premature deaths), Zanka felt it was only fair that he lend his hand. It might buy them some precious minutes to get out of this situation.
“Jabber. Call that manhole woman. She will come for you. You’re their top frontline fighter.” Zanka breathed heavily, feeling the cold sweat dripping down his back.
“No can do, Cthoni doesn’t wear her bracelet on her days off. She won’t perform one of her miraculous extractions this time,” Jabber’s quiet explanation sounded a bit too strained. Needless to say, Jabber’s words did nothing to calm the storm inside Zanka’s head.
If that woman won’t come within the next five minutes (maybe even less than that), then they were truly fucked.
“What about your people? Those friends of yours? That Rudo kid, the bang bang braid girl and that big, beefy guy with the umbrella. Call them!”
Zanka could try to hail them, but what good would it do? Even if someone was nearby, they still wouldn’t make it in time, not even Rudo’s freaky powers could save them. Besides, if he remembered it right, then this morning nearly everyone went off to Canvas Town. Enjin and the other adults went as bodyguards for the kids.
A bitter laugh spilled past his lips. What the hell was he doing? Holding onto his sworn rival, this infuriating genius as they waited for the unavoidable, fatal toppling?
His father always used to say that Zanka’s pride was his biggest flaw. Face to face with his own hubris, how could he not laugh? This was so fucking hilarious.
“Long distance communication is cut off underground; they’re not coming either. We’re on our own,” Zanka muttered dourly.
“What? Zan-“
“We’re running out of time. Mankira can cut through anything. So do it. Slice a straight path for me that way,” Zanka pointed to the northeast of them, where he sensed his instrument’s faint presence. “I won’t let you do all the heavy lifting.”
“That’s what I like about you. You’re so tenacious!” Jabber remarked, spreading Mankira further apart, conductive to preparing to make a path toward Lovely Assistaff. Zanka snorted, getting into position behind him, readying himself for a heedless sprint. “I don’t want to hear that from someone like you!”
They moved fluidly, Zanka kept his distance as Jabber sliced through bulk after bulk of accrued trash. When he wasn’t the recipient of those sweeping attacks, Zanka took in the grace and agility behind every strike, how Jabber whirled and swooped like he was performing a deadly dance.
Zanka tore his gaze off Jabber’s deft fingers, just in time to beckon his weapon which answered his call, now that the path was clear of obstacles. He activated his power, his instrument literally exploded everything that was in its collision pathway back to the center of this mess to regroup.
Just then, Zanka noticed his Assistaff looked a bit different than usual. For one, it was much bigger, the spikes were spikier. He’ll think about it later; now he some large targets to smash into smithereens. Zanka’s lips curled in a smile.
He knew his odds of survival arose only if he stayed close to the Raider, so he rejoined Jabber in the middle of the vast basement. Jabber’s magenta eyes zeroed in onto Zanka’s shapeshifted instrument with crazed elation.
“Zan-Zan. You finally released the beast inside you, haven’t you?! Where have you been hiding this beauty?” The way Jabber reverently sneaked glances at him whilst he sliced and diced up the falling trash wasn’t exactly subtle, and Zanka was feeling a bit too hot under his Cleaner uniform.
Zanka kept his focus honed in solely on the waves of falling garbage, knowing full well how red his impressively ruddy face was from receiving a sudden laudation. The likes of Jabber don’t dish out compliments if they didn't mean them.
A spark of warmth spread through his chest, though Zanka didn’t want to think of what that spark could possibly indicate. He couldn’t afford to let go of his vigilance.
Trash hurricanes tended to last for hours and it seemed like he and Jabber had the misfortune of choosing a place that was in the so called ‘storm’s eye’ which was capable of inflicting environmental devastation.
Zanka resigned himself to this battle of attrition, swatting at junk while the temporary ally out of the blue disengaged his instrument and he fell face-first on the ground.
Well shit. Zanka swore under his breath, running toward Jabber to where he fell to cover him. He was just returning the favor until that stupid Raider could manifest his weapon again.
His stomach churned as minutes went by and Jabber was still motionless. Zanka couldn’t believe it; most importantly he couldn’t believe his bad luck. Why did that infuriating guy have to faint now?!
He threw a heated glare at Jabber, who was still out of it. Maybe the opportune time Zanka’s waiting for had arrived; the wind was lessening up and the trash got significantly less bulky. He could get away on his own easily.
Zanka swallowed thickly, his parched throat burned, although that was nothing in comparison to the way his stomach churned when he glanced at Jabber.
It would be morally correct to leave a guy like Jabber to his fate. He was a Raider and he must have committed a lot of crimes, including murder and theft. He was a thrill-seeking junkie who lived off pain, whether his own or his opponent’s.
The stabbing feeling in his gut moved toward his chest. No, Jabber had plenty of chances to forsake him earlier and he didn’t; Zanka won’t be a coward either.
He had to get the timing right, since he doubted he’ll get another shot at it. Zanka was sweating profusely and his vision was kinda flaky. That can’t be a good sign. Is he about to black out like Jabber? He can’t!
Screw the timing, it was now or never!! Zanka stopped paying mind to the falling trash and he bent down, picking up Jabber. He slung him over his shoulder. Since they were underground, their only option was to go up. Zanka steeled his resolve, tying the purple sash of Jabber’s around his own torso and the guy, too, as a form of tether, so he had some assurance Jabber wouldn’t slip off his shoulder.
He broke out into a dash, clutching his Lovely Assistaff in one hand. Zanka used the fallen rubble as stepping stones, jumping higher and higher even with additional weight of an unconscious Jabber strapped to his back.
Relief flooded him when evading the scarce pieces of trash wasn’t as hard an undertaking as it seemed before he was airborne. Fortunately, Zanka was resourceful. He advanced further, toward the overcast sky, boosting off a fridge.
The roof was in sight and Zanka grabbed onto the ledge, exploiting the momentum to swing himself over it and up, his instrument used as a crutch.
Zanka’s lungs took in the sort of fresh, arid air that followed after a hurricane. While the strong winds were settling down at last, Zanka knew they weren’t safe yet. He had to get away as fast as possible. With that single thought running through his mind, Zanka, who was already running on fumes, sought out the emergency stairs.
The whole structure was wrecked unfortunately, so Zanka jumped from a considerable height onto the sandy ground below, wincing as his knees wobbled and he almost (embarrassingly) lost his footing.
He recovered his balance fast, though. Zanka stole a glimpse at the building, deciding it was for the best to not linger and watch it fall apart like a house made of cards.
Every muscle in his body ached, but Zanka didn’t let up. He ran until he couldn’t anymore. Luckily, they were on the fringes of the hurricane’s reach. Zanka found a space suitable for temporary shelter. It was another abandoned building, but much smaller and Zanka thought it was better than being exposed to the elements.
He kicked the front door open, wandering inside what looked to be a bar of sorts. It even had a podium and an old piano. Zanka found a relatively clean booth to the left. He trundled toward it. Anima repletion and exhaustion were no joke apparently as Zanka’s vision swum, gradually turning darker.
With last strength, he threw his staff on the table and he untied Jabber, settling him down.
Then, half-awake and delirious, Zanka stumbled to the other side of the booth, taking the remaining seat. He slumped heavily against the hard surface. His body couldn’t cope with the fatigue any longer.
Someone was humming. It wasn’t a melody he recognized, but he thought it was lovely nonetheless. Zanka wasn’t sure if he was dreaming, but surely Jabber took off after he woke up. But then what was this inexplicable feeling of being cozy? Moreover, he felt another body underneath him.
Was Jabber still around?
Within five miles, it was only the two of them in this wasteland. Zanka tried to open his heavy eyelids, but they stubbornly refused to comply to his body’s command.
While he was ‘awake’, the rest of his body had yet to take the hint and cooperate, so Zanka didn’t budge when the other person arranged him so that Zanka’s head was positioned on something sturdy, yet pliable. Hard, yet soft.
With a startle, it dawned on him that he lay on Jabber’s lap, his body tucked neatly so they would both fit on the narrow seat.
The humming stopped; Zanka listened to the rustling of Jabber’s clothes, waiting.
“I know you’re awake. I dunno if your Cleaner buddies would give a fuck about saving an enemy. Let me lay it down for ya. I don’t do this heart to heart shit. It makes me wanna puke and slash my own throat; but for you I’ll make a rare exception. So, yeah. Thanks. For saving me.”
That genuine sincerity in Jabber’s voice was frighteningly serious. Zanka desperately wished he could peek at his face and find out what kind of expression was plastered on Jabber’s face.
“You’re incredible, do you know that? You’ve awakened your weapon’s second form and you held out longer than I. So I guess that means you have a win over me.”
If Zanka was fully awake, he would contest that claim and tell Jabber that wasn’t a real win. They were battling together against a natural phenomenon and Jabber only went out faster because he protected him as they waited for the numbing toxins to wear off.
A sweeping motion smoothed over his hair. The touch was preceded with a tinge of coolness, too. Zanka belatedly understood what was happening.
Jabber Wonger, the deranged Raider was stroking his head in a soothing manner.
Zanka tried to move, but the most he achieved was squirming and flailing his legs like a fish on land. Did Jabber do something to make him feel so sluggish? “You’ve overtaxed yourself real bad. I have a much higher tolerance for pain and that is the reason I’m awake so soon. It’s got nothing to do with being weak. You’re strong, Zanka. Stronger than you think and I want to fight you again and again. But that can wait until we’re both back in top shape. Get some rest. As soon as Cthoni is available, I’ll sent you straight back to your pals.”
Why was Jabber so mind-bogglingly difficult to predict? Predicting his moves and his thinking patterns was like trying to outwit the erratic weather on the Ground.
Jabber’s fingers continued to caress his hair, Mankira’s rings reminded him of a coiled snake; and yet Zanka has never felt so at peace than in this stolen moment.
A soft, fleeting heat connected briefly with his cheek, nose and even his eyelids. “There. Now you’ve an incentive to come and find me, Zan-Zan,” Jabber commented mischievously.
He could just about picture that shit-eating smirk of his as Jabber combed through Zanka’s hair.
As pretext went, there were worse reasons to seeking out a dangerous criminal, Zanka mused. He was physically unable to go anywhere and Jabber’s lap was unexpectedly comfortable. So when he resumed with his quiet humming, Zanka willingly surrendered to him, listening intently until he was lulled to slumber.
He woke up in his room, on the next morning. It seemed like Jabber didn’t lie to him. He was back and he felt refreshed.
The Lovely Assistaff was propped against the wall. Zanka got out of bed, ready to face another day. The others wouldn’t be back till noontime, which left him with some time for training.
Zanka noticed something small sitting on his nightstand table. Upon closer examination, he saw that it was a normal looking box women usually used for jewelry. Did Riyo misplace it?
He opened it, out of curiosity. Zanka was flabbergasted when he found his favorite tassel earrings, looking good as new inside the box. There was a tiny slip of paper, folded on the side of the box. Zanka put on the earrings, wondering how (and when) did August come in. Was August a miracle worker? He got them fixed so soon, and without his knowledge.
It occurred to him that maybe someone else mended the earring. He’ll know the truth after he read the mysterious note. Without further ado, Zanka unfolded the yellow paper.
I am pretty good at tinkering. I’ll be more careful next time we duke it out. J ♥
Zanka smiled, shaking his head at Jabber’s surprisingly sappy message. Who knew the guy could show consideration? He placed the note inside the bottom drawer, then he picked up his staff, heading toward the door to get an early breakfast.