"Gothic Warrior and the Dark Man" by Billy Wong (Novlette)

Genre:  Fantasy

Type of Short Story:  Novelette

Summary:  Pure cathartic fantasy action featuring one butt-kicking heroine.

Retired boxer Lincoln never imagined he would fight a girl, let alone be pushed to his limits by one. After meeting goth metal singer and ultimate bar brawler Freya in the drunken battle of a lifetime, he gets a surprise invitation to join her crew. He and the band develop a strong friendship as he shares his sports and life knowledge with them and they help him recapture his youth. But when evil seeks to claim a band member's soul along with her gift of foresight, the modern day warriors must confront the devil's own scholar... the Dark Man.

Excerpt:

Lincoln sipped the ice water mixed with the last of his double of Kentucky whiskey, his sullen gaze wandering over the shelves of liquor behind the bar as he pondered whether to cut his losses. His friend Jase had recommended this joint as a place to find dates, but Lincoln should've bothered asking if there would be a mature crowd. These kids weren't interesting to him. All they wanted to do was dance and laugh and not hold a real conversation. Maybe he should stop destroying his liver and go.

He vaguely heard movement to his right and glanced over. A curvaceous girl dressed in "goth" style sat down a few feet from him. She was white, but he had no prejudice about color. Her round pretty face might have appealed to him on a better day, but tonight he dismissed her. She wasn't anything special. She'd probably enjoy chattering with some shallow teenage boy than a grown ass man like himself.

I'm a drunk asshole, he thought as he turned back to his inspection of the liquor shelves. I shouldn't judge her. Who says I'm really better than her or anyone here? I'm thinking like a fucking dick. I should go home and go the fuck to bed.

But goddamn it I need another drink.

"Hey bartender," he slurred, shuffling to the right towards the chubby old fellow, "gimme another double."

"Aren't you here alone? I wouldn't advise having another drink if you have to drive home."

"I don't fucking care, I want a double!"

The bartender looked down. "Sorry, son, but the law's the law. Can't afford another lawsuit."

"Fine!" Lincoln spun away from him angrily. "Fucking pu-" His arm hit something hard and small, which moved, and he hear the ding and splash of glass and liquid hitting the hardwood floor.

"You spilled my martini you asshole!" a female voice said.

Lincoln turned to face the curvaceous goth girl and fumbled in his pocket. "Sorry man." He fished out a bill and offered it to her. "Here's five dollars."

She scowled. "That's a single."

He fished out another bill, a ten. "Fine. Here's fifteen dollars."

"I don't want your money you moron."

Silence filled the bar; it even seemed like someone had turned off the music. "Yeah what do you want then?"

The girl seemed to consider, then smirked. "I want you... to lick my drink off the floor, like a dog."

"Aw no you don't bitch!"

She chuckled. "I know you have pride. Most men do. But I'm warning you, you better do what I say or else..."

"Or else what bitch?" He leaned forward, putting them eye to eye. "You gonna call the cops, or tell your pussy friends to try and take me out?"

The girl seemed bemused. "Are you sure you won't do as you're told?"

"No bitch." He glanced around to see how many of the boys looked ready for a fight. A few bigger kids had edged closer to him, but he wasn't intimidated. "Bring it."

"I would, but you're looking the wrong way." Lincoln turned back to the girl, and she decked him. The punch lifted him off his feet and spun him to the ground, knocking over a stool in the process. He tasted the salty tang of blood, and an immense pain in his mouth told him she had broken a fucking tooth.

He grabbed the leg of another stool to help him lurch to his feet and stomped towards the stupid bitch. Normally he wouldn't hurt a woman, but this slut had broke his tooth and he was going to teach her the important lesson not to pick a fight with a man.

Before he could reach her, several thick hands grabbed him. The big boys he'd spotted before threw him down, punched, kicked, and stomped him. Cheap ass little shits, trying to look tough but couldn't fight one on one...

"Stop!" the girl cried. "What the hell are you guys doing?" She motioned with her arms for everyone to clear some space. "He's mine."

His attackers moved back, and Lincoln staggered up. "Really? You're brave, but dumb."

"No..." She raised her fists, clad in black fingerless gloves. "I am a Gothic warrior," she said dramatically, "and these are my battle gloves."

He rolled his eyes, then spat out some blood. "Well, since your friends just beat the crap out of me, maybe you should give me some free shots to even it out."

Grinning, she stuck out her chin. "Sure."

Though a voice in the back of his alcohol heavy head warned him not to do it, Lincoln laid into her with a huge right hook. She didn't fall, so he plowed her with a left hook. When that didn't drop her, he nailed her with another right.

"Enough," she said, and gave him a hook back. The room erupted in cheers. "Is all you throw hooks?" She stung him with a straight punch, then knocked him against the bar with a high kick. Dazed, he shook his head. "Not impressed!"

As she approached, he kicked her in the stomach. "I can do more than hook." He tried to follow up with a jumping elbow, but she blocked it.

"Maybe so," she said, holding his arm at bay like he didn't have over sixty pounds on her, "but I will defeat you, dark man."

A fire lit inside Lincoln's heart and filled him with the strength of rage. "What the fuck you racist bitch?!" he roared with a fury that made her eyes go wide. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but before she could he blasted her in the nose with a punch that sent her back. He followed with a thundering overhand right, then a left uppercut. Her legs buckled, but he didn't let her fall all the way down. As she toppled forward he caught her neck in an underarm choke and cranked on it, dangling her in his hold.

She recovered and clasped her arms around his waist, lifted him into the air and drove the small of his back into the edge of the bar. Lincoln yelled in pain, then managed an "Oh hell no," while she spun him around and hurled him onto a table. One of the table's legs snapped, and he slid awkwardly to the ground.

"Somebody better pay for that!" the barkeep said.

"Sure, whatever," the girl replied. "Here's a hundred dollars."

Although his back was screaming as if impaled with lances of fire, Lincoln forced himself to scramble to his feet. As the girl tried to close her purse, he grabbed her by the hair, pulled her head down, and kneed her repeatedly in the jaw. She collapsed to her back, tried groggily to raise her head. Lincoln dove after her and landed a falling, crushing elbow to her face. He stood, leaving her spread eagled beneath him. A hush fell over the bar.

He should have stopped there, he really should. But her words of a "dark man" fueled his venom. He leapt into the air and delivered another higher, more devastating elbow.

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