Venture Unleashed (The Venture Books) by R.H. Russell Page A

official’s signal, he stepped onto the mat and waited at his starting line. Earnest, at the edge of the mat, signed for him to shut out the crowd, to focus on his opponent’s eyes. He nodded, and stared into them—laughing eyes, amused eyes, looking him scornfully up and down. To him, Venture was some inexperienced kid—a bonded kid—who decided to enter the Championship at the last minute, on a whim.
    Venture recalled Colt, his old teammate who’d underestimated him that day when he was fourteen and fighting with the elites at Beamer’s for the first time. Colt had learned never to make that mistake again. Here it is. Here’s his weakness , Venture noted.
    The whistle blew. Venture dodged the first attempts of his opponent to swing at him and to grab hold of his legs and take him to the ground. Venture’s own fist flew, and, to his surprise, met its target, once, twice, three times. Right, left, right. His confidence soared and his fears faded away. He was himself again. He was blocking a flying kick to his head, grasping an arm and hooking his opponent’s supporting leg with his own leg and tearing it out from underneath him, toppling him backwards. He was on top of the other fighter, in the superior position. Struggling to gain control of his opponent’s arms, taking a few weak punches as he pulled back far enough to strike a powerful blow to the head.  
    He kept punching, rhythmically, over and over again. The slap-thud and the warm spray of blood announced the success of each blow.
    It wasn’t the way he’d planned to win, spattering blood all over himself, making a mess of his opponent’s face, but he was fighting, he was winning, and he was loving it. The official rushed between him and his opponent, now lying limp beneath him. He’d been on top for just a few seconds, not nearly as long as it should have taken to inflict such damage.  
    Venture went back to his line and waited patiently as the healer hovered over his opponent. His cheek, swollen to the bursting point, looked like it would need stitching. So did his lip. But he pushed the healer aside and struggled to his feet, wanting to stand for the official ending of the match.
    Venture stood across from his bloodied opponent, virtually unscathed, and there was his moment, the official extending his arm in his direction, and then, the announcer calling into his horn, “The victor, Venture Delving, of Twin Rivers.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    Venture sat on a wooden bench against the wall at the edge of the arena, while Earnest strapped a cloth-wrapped bundle of ice to his elbow. Venture held another ice pack to his face with his free hand. His knuckles were raw and swollen. His jaw, cheek, and one eye were badly bruised, his elbow felt strained, and the muscles in his legs were shaking. Whenever he tried to stand, they threatened to give way. But none of the battering was serious. A healer had just looked him over and pronounced him healthy enough to continue.
    Dasher approached with Justice, who sat down beside Venture. He should’ve known Justice would show up to stick his nose in once he saw Earnest getting the healer.
    “Well, Vent,” Justice said, “I guess we have a decision to make.”
    “There’s no decision to make. I came here to fight.”
    “You’re exhausted. You’ve been pushed to the limit. You’re just inviting an injury if you go back out there.”
    “I have more in me. I know it.” He lowered the ice from his face to look at his brother.
    Justice shook his head. “You’re so young. You think you can last forever.”
    “I won five matches. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? I came here to see how far I could go, and this isn’t it. It’s farther than I thought it would be, but this isn’t it.”
    “Dasher?” Justice said.
    “I thought he’d be eliminated after a few matches. That he’d make a beginner’s mistake. But somehow, that didn’t happen, and he’s still in. We’re selling him short if we take him out