537 - (FREE TO READ) Vunak Of Antares: A Novel By James LaFond & Jeth Randolph
Chapter six: "自由" / Charles Bronson vs Flamma, The Secutor
Copyright 2025 LaFond & Randolph
A Casting Darts Publishing Original
Written by LaFond & Randolph
Vunak leads “The Dirty Dozen you always wanted” against an opposing team lead by non other than Bruce Lee!
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Click to read Chapter one: “Like Water”
Click to read Chapter two: “Stardust Express”
Click to read Chapter three, part one: “The Galactic Fix is In”
Click to read Chapter three, part two: “Charon’s Song”
Click to read Chapter three, part three: “Best and the Blessed”
Click to read Chapter four: “The Dawning Of A New Sun”
Click to read Chapter five, Part one: “Upon the Scales of Right”
Click to read Chapter 5 (Part 2): “Where’s Charlie?”
"自由" / Vunak of Antares #6
Noon
Charles Bronson vs Blaze, The Flamma (The Flame)
The cell door had opened and the guards had swarmed the room. Bronson was ready and charged the clear shields of the human screws as a hand was placed on his left arm to start restraining him, “Unless you want a mars bar across ya face, get your fuckin’ ‘ands offa me you bug-worshipping cunt!”
The trance field was immediately applied to him and his yells fell silent as he was told of it being his time in the arena.
He was hovered by the small device that the chief screw held in his hand, straight through the tunnels and past an enraged Vunak.
“Let me see our guy damn it!” There was no response and more guards rushed in to separate the Vu and the members of blue team from their team mate.
“You fucking rats!! We’ve had no time for team talk! This is rigged!”
The gate shut in Vunak’s face and he yelled through the bars that gave a view of sands. “We’re here Charlie! Look for the gate!!”
Out onto the sands the phalanx of guards with their clear shields surrounded Bronson who was aware but paralysed, pushing him to the centre position.
‘Fuckin’ MUFTI bastards! - Just wait ‘til I get out of this..!’(0)
The group opened out suddenly leaving Bronson, the trance field vanished but he remained standing immobilised on the sands as his solitary mind reeled at the vastness of the crowd.
‘Fuccckkk! It’s like a wallpaper of faces!’ He thought, unable to take in the numbers and their deafening chanting.
‘The fuckin size of this place!’ Unable to look or move he tried to guess how many 20 by 30 foot prison yards, a space he saw only for one hour a day all the those years, as was being transported to the centre of the arena.
He willed his mind to quiet as he heard Charon betraying his every thought to the crowd through those ‘ ...fuckin’Judas pipes in his neck – it’s like being bugged by a bug!!’.
Charon turned and laughed boomingly, ending in a hiss at that particular leaked thought.
The human guards moved back fast to the gate, shoving Vunak and Burton aside as they did so and it shut behind them just in time for the trance field to disengage and a released Bronson, turned and chased them to the shut entrance.
“Bastards!” he yelled and kicked the door to the delight of the crowd.
“Fuck ya’s, fuck all of ya’s” He screamed at the heights of the crowd and then a nearby voice, “We love you Charlie!!” stopped him almost dead. The group of women from the previous evening’s visit to the wrecking bar were seated low in the stands and were screaming to him:
They were gesturing to nearby men that held works tools smuggled in to the arena. Word was out that Bronson would be made to fight as a prisoner unarmed against The Flamma, Blaze himself. The lower class denizens had conspired to even this encounter by any means they could.
Vu called to him through the bars; “Try and get an equaliser as fast as you can Charlie, deal with whatever he throws first, pressure him and then end that fucker!”
Bronson met his eyes and nodded.
“Blue team, honour the Gods and take your place in the centre!” came Charon’s command.
“Fuck off cunt!” Bronson responded and started to pace the edge of the arena. His eyes searching the arena extremes for any opportunity to spoil the party these bugs had planned.
His interest fell on the structures that lead to the screens – ‘Could I reach there and start to climb? Yes, there’s a way up!’ Again his thoughts were broadcast.
“I could stay up there on top of those screens of yours and piss on the lot of ya! Let’s see how your gods like that!” He yelled openly at Charon. It was then that the colossal screens came strobing to life and first person footage from a robbery from the robbery Bronson had done back in 1974 started playing along with other assaults and crimes –
‘How the fuck did they get this?!’
The deep subconscious memory of his mind has been scanned!!!
Anger rose mixed with remorse.
The lower levels of the crowd cheered at the flashing images of prison resistance, while the upper levels thrilled with vicarious excitement at the crimes being shown: the armed robbery in 1974 – a post office in Ellesmere Port, Cheshire.
‘Seven fuckin’ years for that one!’
New year’s day 1988 – a jewellery shop in Rochdale, Manchester.
‘Only out a short while and then back in!’ he sighed to himself (and all present).
Then a montage of terrified faces of prison governers, teachers, screws and various inmates.
“That cunt deserved it!” is broadcast from his mind via Charon to the crowd. The montage continues; his hands can be seen fashioning a spear.
‘I’ll tell you what, not a bad job on that one all things considered!’ he mused. ‘Wish I had that at least now’ he looked bitterly at his empty hands, this started triggering a restless chattering among the lower levels as tools were passed towards the front members on the lower stands.
Vunak screamed out to Bronson who could only pick out something about the team being with him.
“Well I don’t see you out here, mate!” He retorted.
Vunak continued:
“Sizzle sells buddy, sizzle sells!!! Kill him but add some flowery shit for the crowd!!!”
“You fuckin’ what? This ain’t a kebab shop mate!!” Bronson yelled back.
Through the bars, Vunak demonstrated a finishing series of stabs and slashes with a beheading gesture. Nodding furiously at Bronson, “Got it? Try an…Holy Shit!”
His last ditch coaching was interrupted by the arrival of Blaze, The Flamma.
Blaze entered to his theme; a Roman fanfare of trumpets and delight of the upper crowd was off the charts.
‘This is the most showboating walk in I ever seen!’ Thought Vunak, awed by the gaudy display being experienced by all present. Blaze carried a dazzling polished gold shield with neon lighting across it that gave an effect of flickering flames, his helmet matched to create an almost hypnotic pulsing orange and red effect that was bright even beneath the two suns that hung above.
“A mere prisoner, another convict to slaughter?” His thoughts echoed loudly throughout the levels of the massive ellipse. He didn’t bother speaking any more, here or anywhere else, he knew full well how to work the traitorous tannoy to have the effect it needed on both his fans and the soon to be vanquished and consumed adversary.
The screens now showed a montage now of Flamma’s fall from grace as a Syrian legionnaire for insubordination and his enslavement into the ludus, his hand signing the auctoramentum and the swearing of the sacramentum (1)
Bronson looked up and noted this part, but stiffened as he saw what the screens showed next;
Blaze’s greatest kills shown from the first person so that the audience could live his viewpoint; limbs severed, butchery, screams and, at one point his vision obscured by an opponents blood in his eyes…
Bronson rallied his morale immediately;
“Look at ya, you fuckin’ ponce! I’ll tell you what mate, you look like a right sex-case in that outfit!”
Charon delighted to lean in and project these words at Blaze, whose eyes and nostrils flared at the insult from a scum convict no less!
Charon’s booming voice echoed to the tops of the arena, whipping the crowd to new heights of relish at the prospect of the “...prisoner many times denied freedom vs the gladiator who many times refused it! One who wanted to beat a system and return home against one with no other home than the spectacle of the arena!!!”
The roar of the millions became an abstract physical presence, like a huge beast baying for blood of the two small figures that stood under the heat of the terrible twin suns.
The lower ranks of the crowd were with Bronson who stood unarmed, and now started to throw smuggled tools down onto the sands to aid him as well as rocks and various sharp and blunt objects.
The countdown began. Ten flashed in preparation for Charon and the masses to cheer the numbers down but Blaze did not wait, he started forward instantly to the palpable bloodlust that hung in the hot, burning air.
Blaze started encroaching closer and closer to Bronson.
Vunak was screaming across the expanse to no avail, his voice like a drop in an ocean:
“Counter and enter Charlie!! Pressure and terminate!!!!”
Bronson stood his ground but started to circle sideways as Blaze approached him. He tried to move back towards the end near the blue gate to reach the supports of the screen to begin his climb, but Flamma was crossing the ground too quickly and the King of the roofs realised he must engage Blaze to stand a chance of reaching his goal.
Bronson stooped down to throw rocks and objects as he tried to reach for the tools that were now being thrown out onto the sands by the women and men of the lower stands which lay tantalisingly, several meters away.
Sensing this and still enraged, Blaze then charged Bronson with his illuminated shield forward and sword point just behind, waiting for the knockdown.
From years spent receiving the impact of MUFTI shields, Bronson braced and moved forward to meet the crash head on but the collision was stunning. The shield was metal and far heavier than any synthetic prison kit he’d ever experienced. It glowed red in his compressed face as the combined force of Blaze’s rush and his own body weight buried into the metal of the shield and sent him crashing to the sand.
Instantly he sensed his vulnerability as he came too on his back with Blaze standing over him readying himself for the finish.
Aware of his large back pressed into the sand and creating more drag to slow him down, Bronson lifted his hips and shoulder walked frantically back and then switched to his right side to try and drive away with his legs for a better reach towards several of the tools that lay now inches away.
Advancing above him, Blaze saw the exposed inner right ankle of the convict and raised his long shield so that it momentarily blocked both suns and cast a dark shadow on the downed man before dropping downwards like a guillotine, it’s lower edge smashing Bronson’s ankle, shattering the bones in an agonising flash that shut down his mind.
Pain surged through Bronson like electricity and he could not scramble any further but instead writhed, his teeth clenched refusing the pleasure of a scream to the cunt crowd.
His left hand found the nearest tool that was now just within reach of his grip, a wrecking bar, it’s blue painted metal shaft was wrapped by the death grip of his hand as it stirred from the sands to his will.
Blaze stood dominantly above and raised the sword in his right hand overhead in readiness to plunge it to the chest of the stricken adversary. In the moment that it started it’s descent, Bronson drove the chisel end of the bar upwards as he received the tip of the sword in his chest, piercing his heart. He gave out an exhalation and felt the chisel end hit home past the inside entry of the shield into the crotch of the standing Blaze, his last breath expending in the effort of driving it deep into the flesh behind the standing man’s testicles.
Bronson’s last sight was Blaze collapsing backwards in searing pain at his already dead feet, his flashing shield and sword were dropped from his hands which now clutched frantically at his bloody groin, his screams echoing in a dark space that he was travelling into fast and forever away.
Blaze started to crawl, then managed with great effort to make it to his knees before being dragged by the arena workers who had rushed out to return him to Red gate, past the subdued Hardrada, Wong Fei Hung and Lee, and the silent Musashi who stood close by. His eyes lifting from the sands to the face of a leering Charon, fresh from announcing the Red victory and now intruding into his thoughts uninvited and turning then back to the arena crowd:
“My lords, ladies and gentleman, an epitaph has been selected for the fallen contestant, Charles Bronson courtesy of his Red team rival, Musashi!”
The scorpion tale uncoiled and the energy beam that was situated at it’s end seared the Kanji words forever into the walls of the arena next to an endless line of others:
“Charles Bronson, Blue team: ‘自由’”(2)
Continued next week!
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Notes:
0 - The MUFTI (Minimum Use of Force Tactical Intervention) squad is a specialized team of prison officers trained to handle disturbances and maintain control within prison establishments using minimum force.
Bronson (From excerpt from Newspaper article): 'They banned me from exercising because they wanted to watch football on TV,' Bronson told The Observer. 'I was upset and yanked the sink off the wall in the shower rooms. They came in and jumped all over me, my face, skull and hands.'
Bronson was left with two black eyes, dozens of cuts and the imprint of a boot on his forehead. He also claims to have suffered severe damage to his kidneys which has resulted in him passing blood in his urine and also to have been left deaf in one ear. He describes his current condition as 'crippled with pain'.
A confidential medical report compiled after the first alleged assault has been obtained by The Observer. The report by a doctor for 42 years and one-time employee of the Prison Service, states: 'There is clear medical evidence of damage arising from an injury which had not been receiving the medical attention it so obviously urgently needs. There is evidence that these injuries were caused by a deliberate assault by prison staff on this patient while he was under their care.
'Perhaps most troubling, there is the suggestion of an under-culture of physical brutality which may run something as follows - if a prisoner smashes property, then the staff are expected to smash the prisoner.'
Describing a second alleged attack 10 days later, Bronson said: 'I was punched, kicked and strangled. It was over a football match on TV the screws wanted to watch, so they decided to give all the inmates in the seg[regation unit] less than an hour. Some got half an hour, others got 45 minutes. They came to take me in after 45 minutes. I said no, fuck your football, I am having an hour. The mufti squad [prison slang for officers in riot gear] was brought in and it went off.
'This unit is a hate factory and is making me very ill and unstable. The prison officers have a licence to attack me at any time. I am in fear of my life. I am losing the way fast. The light is going out. I feel lost in hopelessness.'
1 - A contract or auctoramentum stipulated how often gladiators were to perform, their fighting style and earnings. A condemned bankrupt or debtor accepted as novice (novicius) could negotiate with his lanista or editor for the partial or complete payment of his debt. Faced with runaway re-enlistment fees for skilled auctorati, Marcus Aurelius set their upper limit at 12,000 sesterces.
All prospective gladiators, whether volunteer or condemned, were bound to service by a sacred oath (sacramentum). Novices (novicii) trained under teachers of particular fighting styles, probably retired gladiators. They could ascend through a hierarchy of grades (singular: palus) in which primus palus was the highest. Lethal weapons were prohibited in the schools—weighted, blunt wooden versions were probably used. Fighting styles were probably learned through constant rehearsal as choreographed "numbers". An elegant, economical style was preferred. Training included preparation for a stoical, unflinching death. Successful training required intense commitment.
2 - "自由" (jiyū) in Japanese specifically translates to:
Freedom or Liberty
This term embodies the concept of being unrestricted or having the autonomy to act, think, or express oneself without constraints. It's used in various contexts similar to how "freedom" or "liberty" is used in English, from personal freedom (like freedom of speech or freedom of action) to broader societal concepts of liberty.
自 (ji): In Sousho ( Miyamoto Musashi wrote in the Sousho style of kanji, ), this character would start with a flowing, curved stroke that represents the top part of the traditional character. The middle part would be a quick, sweeping line, and the bottom would be a continuous, almost seamless connection to the next stroke.
由 (yū): This character would begin with a dynamic vertical stroke that curves at the bottom, followed by a series of connected strokes that flow from left to right and then back up, creating a sense of movement and continuity.
In the Sousho style, these characters would be written with minimal lifting of the brush from the paper, emphasizing speed and fluidity. Each stroke would blend into the next, creating a piece where the individual components of the characters might not be immediately discernible to those unfamiliar with this style but would convey a dynamic, expressive quality.
This style is characterized by its fluid, connected strokes, making it more abstract and less structured than other forms like Kaisho or Gyosho. The Sousho style reflects a sense of spontaneity and speed, aligning with Musashi's personality and his philosophy of simplicity and directness in both his martial arts and artistic expressions.
