545 - (FREE TO READ) “Champions of Scorpio”: James LaFond & Blaze The Secutor vs Araahk Omega
Vunak Of Antares continues! Chapter Eight
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?”
Click to read Chapter 6: “自由”
Click to read Chapter 7: “Knives Of Scorpio”
Click to read Chapter 8: “Flags Of Scorpio”
“Champions of Scorpio” / Vunak of Antares #9
Afternoon: James LaFond and Blaze The Secutor vs Araahk Omega
Each team advances one man chosen by lot to fight a Scorpion Knight [a main battle tank with a tail rather than a gun] simultaneously, he who lasts longest gaining for his team… a right honorable salute from their lords and masters.
Hung’s body was collected from the sands by attendants attired like gourmet french chefs, followed by a Chinese butcher, sharpening his knife and cleaver.
The figure stopped to pick up and hold aloft the detached head of the kung fu master, laughing and throwing it unceremoniously into the waiting cart with the body where it hit the metal sides with a dull thud.
The small, bald, bearded, mud-mouthed corner man from Baltimore said, “Note that the sand is active, that it drinks the blood of Hung.”
Jack Johnson noted, “Oh, we be grabin’ ankle sho’ ‘nough things goes our way.”
Vu turned to LaFond, a question in his eyes. The gutter gnome then spoke to them all in a rare clarity, “I do not belong as a combatant or trainer. I was selected for my historical knowledge. I apologise, that when I woke, the first among us, on a steel slab, under the eyes of that grasshopper with organ pipes for a neck, that I was questioned in my mind, as to who should stand here against the odds. You, all of you my heroes, and Jeth, who is the only person I thought would willingly come to Antares, are here because of my admiration for you.”
The giants and paragons surrounding the wretch looked on in amazement.
He continued, “I am privy to the roster and the history here. Blue has never, in ten thousand years won. Part of that is that the sands are fixed. Jack, imagine if the promoter who manages your opponent could command the ring canvas to stick to your shoes, just enough. That is something for you all to figure out. I’m advancing for the next match.”
VU blurted, “You couldn’t even beat me!”
“Exactly agreed LaFond. I’m dead in any case, a final battle is scheduled with the corner men fighting alongside the survivors. I’d be lucky to have Hadrada slip in my gore. Look,” and the man looked up and around into all of the eyes of the superior specimens and taller characters about him, with Burton translating into French for Dessalaines, in Greek for Dioxiphos, and into Spanish for Soto, “the next bout pits one of us and one Red against two of those things. No way can we survive. Our weapons cannot cut their chiton. But, the one of us who lasts longer, earns one of their swords for our team. I, heroes of antiquity, have lost over 200 prize-fights, and am far more qualified to lose than all of you combined.”
Burton finished translating, for without Charon there was no automatic translation, a real hamper in the Blue Room. Shaka had a firm grasp of English. Burton than turned to LaFond and VU and remarked, “I was chosen for this moment, my language?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Jeth patted LaFond on the back and VU remarked, “Reasonable,” and shook LaFond’s hand, “I was looking forward to matching you up with Lee. But, since because of YOU, I have been found dead snorting a line in a school boys room, I’ll have to settle for watching you get processed like poultry.”
LaFond grinned, as if some great weight had been removed from his bony shoulders, “Put me in, Coach!”
The men of the Blue Team laughed darkly, a handful of mass murderers among them, eyes glinting with a sardonic light.
The sands were littered with food products and the stands chanted a repeated refrain of “Ghetto Grocer!” as LaFond made his way through Blue Gate and out into the awesome glare of the arena. Charon’s introduction echoed amid the air horns in the crowd:
“From the rugged shores of “battle town” a lowly grocer walks the sands;
James LaFond, ventures forth, meat and cargo hooks now in hand.
Fists, blade and stick, he championed the cause of the barbarian renewed.
For Team Vunak, he stands, his loyalty forever … Blue.
From the ancient arts of combat, where deeds spark’d like steel,
Each clash a testament to honour and those who would not kneel
Through urban jungles, where the shadows whisper tales of might,
He fights not just for self, but against the gaslit night.
No victor's wreath he seeks, but truth in every blow and fall,
He sings of strength, of will, of life's unyielded, brutal call.
His words, like chiseled stone, recount the essence of the fight,
Not just with arms, but heart and soul, in endless urban blight.”(1)
‘Fuck man, I sound pretty cool! Not bad for the second least popular author on Amazon after that idiot Jeth over there.’
He glanced over to Blue gate where the West Country assistant could be seen with a weakly hopeful expression, attempting to raise a thumbs up to him from behind an obviously irritated Vunak, who shoved him away roughly.
LaFond’s gaze then fell to an excited looking blonde in the lower stand who was waiving to him enthusiastically. ‘Dude! She is like a perfect ten out of ten man! Mama, don’t go nowhere! I’ll just head over for a second and...’
His first motion to step in his admirer’s direction was interrupted by the grating steel of Red Gate as it opened to reveal a limping Blaze. Now devoid of his previous neon theatrics, with only a standard round shield and sword.
His footsteps to the centre were laboured, blood still ran down his legs from the groin wound and his face was ashen.
Charon boomed: “He is joined by the returning victor of our earlier match … Blaze!!!”
There was a fanfare of Roman trumpets from the neck pipes.
“Subiecti Antaris!! Behold the spectacle that lies before you! Today, a man once draped in the glory of Rome's legions, now humbled and crippled, yet undeterred in spirit!
He who once stood proud among the ranks of the Roman legions. But fate, harsh and cruel, saw him fall from grace, his valour in battle no shield against the charge of insubordination. Stripped of his rank, he was cast down into the pits of gladiatorial combat.
Crippled though he may be after his fight with Solitary Bronco, his spirit remains unbroken, his resolve as firm as the walls of our eternal city. His name still echoes across the sands into eternity, feared by all who dare to face him!
He has chosen the path of the arena over freedom, not once, but four times. Will he triumph once more, or has his body finally met its match? Let the games begin, and let us see if the gods still favour this disgraced former legionnaire, now reborn in the arena as Blaze the Persutor!"
The crowd erupted in a cacophony of cheers and jeers, the anticipation thick as the dust that now swirled around the limping yet defiant figure of Blaze.
But then just as abruptly, all was hushed as the giant screens flashed a symbol; a pyramid with a circle within, topped with a hooked barb. The outline morphed and darkened from red to black before brightening to a blinding, golden light as Charon’s voice echoed:
“Ladies and gentlemen, denizens of the arena, gird yourselves for a spectacle of unparalleled horror and bravery! From the scorched plains of the Crimson Wastes, I present to you the epitome of lethal grace and deadly intent — Araahk Omega!!!”
The centre of the sands seemed to stir and drop away as an opening appeared. From it raised the huge form of Omega, the crackling gold light matching the golden symbol on the screens above that was the edge of his energy sword sprang to life as he began to circle it, slowly with his hands while his enormous claws stayed folded to his chest before opening to reveal the pyramid of Scorpio symbol from the screen branded into his chest. Charon continued:
“Behold his colossal form, as he comes forth with the silent menace of the night. His carapace, a fortress of dark chitin, glimmers with the sheen of a thousand battles, but today, he bears a new burden. Araahk Omega, you see, is not just a gladiator; he is a test subject, infected with the scourge of the human realm — the flu virus!(2)
Even as his body fights this alien affliction, his tail, a weapon of such awe and dread, arcs above the combat space, its stinger dripping with venom that could fell the mightiest of beasts or men with but a single, cruel stab. Will this human illness weaken him, or will it drive him to an even more ferocious combat?
Araahk Omega is not merely a creature of destruction; he is a strategist, a gladiator whose every move is calculated for maximum carnage, even under the duress of this foreign malady. His pincers, vast and crushing, are not just tools for rending flesh but for ensnaring the unwary, holding them in a grip from which there is no escape. His eyes miss nothing; every twitch of his opponents is noted, every breath taken into account, all while his body wages war against the invisible foe within.
In the arena, he fights not just for survival but against the the human disease. With each clash, his clattering steps echo like the drums of war, each strike of his tail a note in the symphony of battle.
So, prepare yourselves, for few will live to tell the tale of facing Araahk Omega under these conditions. Will he succumb to the new human flu test variant, or will he triumph, proving his might even when beset by sickness? The sands of the arena await, and with them, the dance of death with Araahk Omega, the giant gladiator of Scorpio, a test subject of unprecedented valour and danger!”(3)
Through the ear-splitting clamour, Araahk Omega felt the insult of the match truly bite as his vision fell on his opponents:
‘So, I am to fight a cripple and a grocer as a performance test of this shameful humanoid virus! The Gods mock me.’
‘This affliction is to be used on these pitiful humans’ planet?’
He stretched his aching shoulders as they shivered imperceptibly under the glare of the suns, a sheen of sweat shone purple in the light. His eyes, eight orbs of expressionless coldness watered against the effects of the bio-weapon.
‘And yet, the small bearded one has volunteered for this death? Without even a sword, solely with worker’s tools. A hopeless fight just to try and give their team a mere chance of retaining a better fighter?’
Empathy rose in his giant form for the humans accompanied by a respect for the honour they displayed in the face of destruction. An honour his “Gods” saw fit to deny him for mere amusement.
Amid the tumult, and studying the limping Blaze, now with a plain shield and sword in hand, Araahk Omega readied the weight of his sword toward the centre of the two figures, struggling with his anger as he did so as the countdown finished and the deafening command to fight rang through the ellipse.
Blaze and LaFond attacked immediately and in unison against the giant.
James circled behind Omega trying to escape the cruel claws as they thrust outwards.
‘Is there a weak point in this fucker’s body armour that can be prised open with the hooks?’
He scanned furiously as he tried to distract the many- limbed adversary to the side while Blaze charged headlong for the centre of it’s mass.
His side step was checked by a purple, slashing claw strike that narrowly missed his head and he back slipped wildly to avoid it.
Blaze seized the instant of LaFond’s failure by committing to a limping charge of Omega from the front in an attempt to dominate the fight and gain slim chance of advantage. His sword slashed the pink palm of the Antarian, making it repulse back inwards as the arm contracted in pain and the huge barbed tail struck at him but missed.
LaFond pressed on, correcting himself from the back slip, he prepared for a second lunge at the flanks of the beast but was caught square under the ribs and hoisted into the air by the left claw.
His lower ribs were crushed with a sickening popping sound that could be heard by Blaze who, unperturbed barged forward with his shield and sword, attempting to pierce Omega’s chest at the brand.
James writhed in the sand, cursing this failure of tactics just in time to witness the huge Antarian energy sword descend on Blaze, it’s crackling edge chewing through the Syrian’s shield with a shower of sparks and amputating his left arm beyond the shoulder and high into the chest as if through butter.
Blood arced, it seemed to James in slow motion against the sky as Blaze was sent reeling to the ground by his side, close enough for him to hear his death rattle as his life force left him and his eyes rolled upward.
‘Now’s the moment! I can rollover and slash the beast’s ankle, just need to get...’
He turned as the huge webbed foot descended from seemingly nowhere and crushed his already fractured ribcage, driving the ribs though his heart and lungs and out into the sand beneath him.
At this, Omega felt no victory but rather a sense of some kind of loss. Was this his worth to the lords? To fight cripples and old men? Where was the honour in this? And yet, the two had fought valiantly despite offering no match for him.
He turned to look not at the crowd but back at the blue gate and the hung heads of Vunak and the others.
‘They have no chance of winning this day but give everything and still try’
The human virus clouded his thoughts as mucus swelled in his nostrils and throat, his muscles ached.
‘These puny humans suffer much just to draw breath!’
He looked down now and shook the remains of the smaller man from his foot, seemingly stuck as they were like some kind of cadaverous shoe.
Araahk Omega stooped and pulled the meat hook from LaFond’s lifeless remains where it had embedded with the crushing power of being trampled.
‘Pathetic, they have no claws and must fashion their own…’ He contemplated while he held it in his functioning right palm, all the while feelings of contempt and admiration struggled for dominance within him.
‘Your claw will battle together with mine now little human’
The laser tail of Charon etched the epitaphs of the fallen forever into the walls of the ellipse:
First in elegant Roman carved letters, “Blaze, the Syrian: Legionnaire, Gladiator and People’s Champion.”
And below it in a smaller earth computer font: “Let his name be echoed, in the halls where heroes dwell, James LaFond, the battling scribe, whose tales we'll ever tell.”
Continued next week!
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NOTES:
1 - Simonides of Ceos was a notable Greek lyric poet who lived from approximately 556 BC to 468 BC. Born in Ioulis on the island of Ceos, he was recognised for his contributions to various forms of poetry including elegiacs, epigrams, and victory odes (epinicia).
Simonides was part of the canonical list of nine lyric poets esteemed by scholars of Hellenistic Alexandria. He was known for his epitaphs, particularly those commemorating fallen warriors in battles like Thermopylae during the Persian Wars. His poetry often dealt with themes of heroism, commemoration, and human achievements.
He was credited with innovations in lyric poetry that influenced contemporaries like Pindar and Bacchylides, his nephew.
Simonides spent significant time in Athens during the rule of the tyrant Hipparchus, where he competed in dithyrambic contests and was known for his choral odes. After the political changes in Athens, he moved to Thessaly and later to Sicily where he served under the patronage of Hiero of Syracuse.
Although much of his work survives only in fragments, Simonides was celebrated for his poetic skill, his ability to combine pathos with praise, and for his practical approach to poetry, including reportedly being the first poet to demand payment for his work.
He is also historically noted for his contribution to the art of memory, where he allegedly developed a system of mnemonics based on visualising places and objects to aid memory recall, which is known as the "method of loci."
2 – The rulers of Antares test new bio-weapons before releasing them on seed planets to reduce population numbers to more easily manageable levels.
3 - Kenneth Bulmer, born on January 14, 1921, in London, England, had a prolific writing career that spanned several decades. He primarily wrote science fiction and was known for his use of various pen names. His career began in the 1940s when he contributed to British fan magazines and wrote for American science fiction magazines like Amazing Stories.
In the 1950s, Bulmer started working for UK science fiction novel publishers and gained recognition. He wrote stories directly for Ace Books in New York and submitted scripts to Amalgamated Press, which led to his involvement in the comics industry. He wrote several War Picture Library stories and serials for Lion and Valiant, including the famous Steel Claw for Valiant.
Bulmer is best known for his long-running Dray Prescot series of planetary romances (on which “Vunak of Antares” is based - with respect from both authors), which was initially published under the pseudonym Alan Burt Akers and later as written by the first-person protagonist, Dray Prescot himself.
Bulmer wrote the “Dray Prescot” series under this pseudonym, which began in 1972 with the release of “Transit to Scorpio” and concluded in 1997 with “Turmoil on Kregen.” The series is known for its “Sword and Planet” genre, featuring a storyline where an Earthling is transported to other planets and engages in swashbuckling adventures against human and non-human creatures. The series consists of 52 books divided into eleven cycles, each containing around four to six books. Ultimately , he wrote over 160 novels and numerous short stories, both under his real name and various pseudonyms.
His writing career was temporarily halted in 1997 when he suffered a stroke. Despite this, his works remained popular, especially in Germany, where some of his books were published only in German editions without English versions. Bulmer died on December 16, 2005, in Tunbridge Wells, Kent, England.