me. I’m here. In the chair. Face hurts. Blood. My blood. Anna. In the bathroom. She hit me.
“Better place your bet, mate,” Jack said. “Show’s about to start.”
24
Sumo vs Zombie
Bet: $500,000
Owing: $1,144,000
A damu stood, ready, centering himself before the lights went on and the match began. Before the Zombie War, and despite the influence of the training place he lived in, the heya , he had made a good living from knocking other men to the floor or out of the ring. For someone like him, thirty thousand US dollars a month was not out of the question and usually it was a bit more.
But money didn’t matter now, at least, not as much. Though Sterpanko paid him, it was nowhere near what he used to make. Adamu originally thought he’d earn equal to or the same as his pre-war earnings, considering every time he stepped into the ring he was putting his life on the line. Such was not the case at Blood Bay Arena, yet Adamu had no real place to go to honor his fathers. The life of a rikishi was lost during the war. So far as he knew, he was the only one left though he suspected there were others out there, somewhere, practicing their art. He just wished he knew where.
The problem was he couldn’t search for them even if he wanted to. Sterpanko owned him, and if he did try to travel and find others, he’d either be stopped at borders, denied air travel or, worse, made an example of to any others in Sterpanko’s fighting stable that wanted a way out.
Standing tall and weighing two-hundred-fifty-six pounds, Adamu had done well in the ring. Though the rules here were different than traditional Sumo bouts, the object was the same: knock your opponent to the ground or out of the ring. But in this case, ensure they didn’t get back up or get back in. Adamu had done quite well on the former. The latter was impossible unless you were gifted with unnatural strength like that Axiom-man fellow. The cage was sealed off on all sides and on top.
Even now, after many bouts here, Adamu still remembered what it was like to boldly walk into the ring with the other wrestlers, proudly wearing his kesho-mawashi —an elaborate, embroidered silk apron—and participate in a brief ritual before returning to his dressing room to change into his fighting mawashi . Nowadays, it was mawashi only. No prior ceremonies. No respect. Just wrestling, money, and answering the call of the fighter within.
Briefly, Adamu wondered what type of the undead he’d be battling today. He knew he’d find out soon enough.
And he did. The buzzer sounded and the house lights went on. The iron ring lit up and the dead began to rise.
A Shambler stood before him, wrists bound in chains.
Adamu didn’t know him personally, but this time Sterpanko had the guts to actually put a real rikishi in front of him and not just some mindless, bag of dead skin and guts.
It was a Sumo.
Though the ring here was not a traditional dohyō , he wondered if the creature across from him even knew what a dohyō was anymore. Regardless, Adamu got busy stomping his legs in a shiko exercise to drive away any evil spiritsinthering.Hementallywentthroughthepurificationritualofrinsinghismouthwith chikara-mizu (powerwater)anddryingitwith chikara-gami (power paper).
He squatted, clapped his hands, showing the dead man he had no weapons, then mentally sprinkled salt into the ring to purify it.
It was time to begin and those in the shadows controlling the bout knew it.
The buzzer rang again and the undead Sumo’s chains dropped to the floor.
Adamu launched his initial charge, the tachi-ai , something that, in the upper divisions, he didn’t normally do, but here, it was charge or die. The other Sumo seemed to be doing the same thing. They plowed into each other. The thud as healthy and dead flesh collided echoed all the way up Adamu’s chest. Immediately, the zombie Sumo—Zumo?—began biting, his flappy jowls pushing into him as he tried to take a chunk of meat
“Better place your bet, mate,” Jack said. “Show’s about to start.”
24
Sumo vs Zombie
Bet: $500,000
Owing: $1,144,000
A damu stood, ready, centering himself before the lights went on and the match began. Before the Zombie War, and despite the influence of the training place he lived in, the heya , he had made a good living from knocking other men to the floor or out of the ring. For someone like him, thirty thousand US dollars a month was not out of the question and usually it was a bit more.
But money didn’t matter now, at least, not as much. Though Sterpanko paid him, it was nowhere near what he used to make. Adamu originally thought he’d earn equal to or the same as his pre-war earnings, considering every time he stepped into the ring he was putting his life on the line. Such was not the case at Blood Bay Arena, yet Adamu had no real place to go to honor his fathers. The life of a rikishi was lost during the war. So far as he knew, he was the only one left though he suspected there were others out there, somewhere, practicing their art. He just wished he knew where.
The problem was he couldn’t search for them even if he wanted to. Sterpanko owned him, and if he did try to travel and find others, he’d either be stopped at borders, denied air travel or, worse, made an example of to any others in Sterpanko’s fighting stable that wanted a way out.
Standing tall and weighing two-hundred-fifty-six pounds, Adamu had done well in the ring. Though the rules here were different than traditional Sumo bouts, the object was the same: knock your opponent to the ground or out of the ring. But in this case, ensure they didn’t get back up or get back in. Adamu had done quite well on the former. The latter was impossible unless you were gifted with unnatural strength like that Axiom-man fellow. The cage was sealed off on all sides and on top.
Even now, after many bouts here, Adamu still remembered what it was like to boldly walk into the ring with the other wrestlers, proudly wearing his kesho-mawashi —an elaborate, embroidered silk apron—and participate in a brief ritual before returning to his dressing room to change into his fighting mawashi . Nowadays, it was mawashi only. No prior ceremonies. No respect. Just wrestling, money, and answering the call of the fighter within.
Briefly, Adamu wondered what type of the undead he’d be battling today. He knew he’d find out soon enough.
And he did. The buzzer sounded and the house lights went on. The iron ring lit up and the dead began to rise.
A Shambler stood before him, wrists bound in chains.
Adamu didn’t know him personally, but this time Sterpanko had the guts to actually put a real rikishi in front of him and not just some mindless, bag of dead skin and guts.
It was a Sumo.
Though the ring here was not a traditional dohyō , he wondered if the creature across from him even knew what a dohyō was anymore. Regardless, Adamu got busy stomping his legs in a shiko exercise to drive away any evil spiritsinthering.Hementallywentthroughthepurificationritualofrinsinghismouthwith chikara-mizu (powerwater)anddryingitwith chikara-gami (power paper).
He squatted, clapped his hands, showing the dead man he had no weapons, then mentally sprinkled salt into the ring to purify it.
It was time to begin and those in the shadows controlling the bout knew it.
The buzzer rang again and the undead Sumo’s chains dropped to the floor.
Adamu launched his initial charge, the tachi-ai , something that, in the upper divisions, he didn’t normally do, but here, it was charge or die. The other Sumo seemed to be doing the same thing. They plowed into each other. The thud as healthy and dead flesh collided echoed all the way up Adamu’s chest. Immediately, the zombie Sumo—Zumo?—began biting, his flappy jowls pushing into him as he tried to take a chunk of meat
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