“Edmund? Where’re ya going?”

The young tigerkin winced, cursing under his breath. Not even a few steps out of the house and he had already been caught like a thief in the dead of night, all that waiting gone to waste. In the vacuum left by his father’s absence, the two nosy old canines in the townhouse next door took it upon themselves to watch over him. At least once every few days, they would pay him a visit, to make sure that he had the skills he needed to take care of both himself and the house. Through the years of pent-up anger he had for his deadbeat dad, there was a small part of him that was grateful for it because it gave him a reason to get to know them. They were a beacon of humanity in this otherwise bleak shithole of a city.

Most nights, he would welcome their nosiness. This was not one of those nights. Knowing exactly where the voice was coming from, he looked up to the window to see the old dog and her nightgown peering from his window, framed by an old lamp, glowing with the soft pale light of the mana that powered it.

“Don’t be like that, Ed. We worry ‘bout ya. That’s all.”

Of course, he didn’t need the light to see her, even with the distance between them. Since his father left, shortly after he started bulking up in puberty, he had an uncanny knack for noticing the small details. She might as well have been standing right next to him for how clear the bags were under her eyes. Someone else would’ve missed them, but not Edmund. Never Edmund.

All that work hiding his plans didn’t matter one bit, she still found out: “I know, Mrs. Stansb-”

“How many times do I ‘ave to tell ya? It’s Jezzy or Jezebel, dear. You don’t ‘ave to be so stiff with us.” She let out a chuckle that reached all the way up to her eyes.

For a moment, Edmund was grateful that his embarrassed blush couldn’t be seen under his fur, feeling the blood flow into his cheeks. “My bad, Mrs. Jezebel. I know, but-”

“I’m an old busybody, Ed. And you’re still a kid. You could sit inside all day’n I’d still worry ‘bout ya. That’s what hags like me do.”

As soon as the words came out of her mouth, he could see the shift. The subtle sagging of her shoulders; The way her lips began to dry out from the nerves, signs as to what she was really thinking. They told him that she was putting on a brave face, and he was both too polite and too stubborn to point it out.

“C’mon old lady. Ya don’t look a day over 200.” He struggled to think of something more appropriate for the situation. But when nothing came, the jape tumbled out of his mouth almost automatically. It wasn’t the first time, and they both smiled at their mutual understanding.

“You’re a good kid, Edmund. You deserve better than this.” An awkward moment passed between them as the sentiment lingered in the air. Whether the old lady was right or not didn’t matter: What he deserved didn’t matter. What mattered is that this was the quickest way to make some spending money for a kid like him, and he knew it.

---

With all the shops closed, an eerie silence echoed throughout the Market District. While the usual patrols were out and about, gambisons clear in the torchlight, none of them were anywhere near Edmund’s destination. Still, he had to cross through them on his way to it, no easy feat given the clear, moonlit night. At first, Edmund considered himself lucky that the guards didn’t notice his shirtless, muscular form en route to the venue. As “coincidence” and “luck” began to pile up, he realized they were never going to notice him. They were paid not to notice him.

It was an open secret that the coordinator had bribed the guards to look the other way. In Oplentis, those with magic or money had all the power. And unless he started spontaneously shooting lightning out of his hands, the teenage tigerkin wagered he had a better, and safer, chance of getting his hands on some cash by participating in their underground fight rings than trying to work an “honest” job. Officially, brawling was forbidden among the populace, lest the people can the impression they could take on the guards. But with the right palms greased, no one was going to put a stop to it.

If you can enlist at fifteen, why shouldn’t you be able to throw hands?

With the threat of arrest no longer hanging over him, Edmund stopped wasting time sneaking around, heading directly to the waterfront. Though many warehouses littered the docks, with workers handling late night shipments, or already closed with no sign of activity. Yet only one had the unique mix of light staff, only a few people manning the front entrance, and lights on, with a dull roar emanating from it. The tiger reasoned that was the place. When he approached, the usher gave him a curt nod, letting him pass.

In the wide, open space of this almost suspiciously nondescript warehouse, empty were it not for an office space overseeing a cordoned off back area, and the crowd gathering around a hastily, haphazardly constructed fighting ring, the receptionist was easy to spot: A squat otterkin sat behind a long table just inside. Edmund heard the bespeckled mustelid cat-calling him when he approached. “New meat, huh? You look like you’re in the right place, kid.”

It took all of his willpower to keep his stony expression as the otterkin looked him up and down. He praised himself in the back of his mind for choosing to go without the shirt and let his burgeoning physique speak for itself. It was better than letting the guy know that he had never fought a day in life, nor done any training other than the exercises he remembered his old man doing back before he was abandoned: Back when he still had a dad worth admiring.

Instead, he took a flyer out of his pocket and placed it on the table. “I am if this is where I get paid for lastin’ against yer champ.”

An almost predatory grin crossed the receptionist’s visage. “Sure is. And you also know that once you step in there, what happens is on you. We’re not paying to get you patched up.”

“Won’t need it.” Though Edmund had butterflies flitting around in his stomach, they were assuaged by the assurance there was substance behind the boast. It was no empty bluster.

“Your funeral, ya cocky little shit.” Just then, a bell resounded from the center of the warehouse. In their makeshift ring, an older-looking dalmatian, probably in his mid-20s, collapsed. A few identically-dressed beastkin in overalls stepped in to remove him from the ring, using a stretcher, as his opponent, a large bullkin, pumped his gloved fists into the air. Rendered giddy from the spectacle, the receptionist continued, “Good news for you, meat. You’re next. Get your punching gloves on and get in there.”

Without betraying the fear in his heart, Edmund followed directions, making sure the blue and gold speed wraps were pulled tight to give his wrist support. Another otterkin, adorned in eye-catching, sharply-tailored finery easily worth more than Ms. Jezebel’s townhouse, escorted him to the ring. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Edmund Azurium.” He raised his hands in the air as the otter’s eyes started to bulge out. “Before ya ask: Yeah, he’s my dad. And nah, I’m not with his piece-a-shit guards.”

It was enough to mollify the ostentatiously dressed mustelid. Catching his breath from the sudden rush of adrenaline, he calmed back down and continued, “Good to know, kid. But I meant yer stage name. The champ over there calls himself ‘Big Mooscles’, and we gotta know what to call you.”

“Big Mooscles?” Edmund cocked his head, expecting a punch line that would never come. The noble otterkin gave no hint of humor or sarcasm as he spoke.

“Yeah. We all thought it was funny too until he started cleanin’ house. Now hurry up’n gimme a name.”

Giving it as much thought as he could in the time he was given, he settled on something he was mostly happy with. “Azure Lightning. Call me Azure Lightning.” It was a little awkward to his own ears, and the hesitant expression on his face gave it after.

The sharp sea mammal, either out of kindness or a simple need to keep the show running smoothly, gave him a quiet smile. “I’ve heard a lot worse in my day, kid. I can work with that.”

“You can-” Edmund was interrupted by a shove from another beastkin in coveralls, pushing him down the walkway leading from the cordoned off area to the ring.

It was then that the otterkin made his own role in all of this obvious, weaving a spell around his own neck. The next words out of his mouth were amplified enough to be heard over the murmur of the crowd, all traces of an accent completely neutralized, words broadcast clearly to their intended audience. “And with that, The Spot got cleaned straight out of the ring. Big Mooscles crushes the dream of yet another contender.” Growing more boisterous, he started throwing out the large, exaggerated hand motions of an entertainer in love with himself. “But just when you thought we were out of fresh meat, another challenger steps into the ring. Shocking his way into the competition, will Big Mooscles finally flinch when he feels the sting of AZURRRRRRRRRRRRRRE LIGHTNING!”

The teenage tiger pumped his fist in the air, the crowd cheering more at the fact that the night wasn’t over than for him specifically. Still, it was just enough to bring his nerves down and help him focus. He didn’t have to win the fight, just stay standing long enough to claim the prize money. With that in mind, he got into the stance that he had seen his father take before getting ready to punch the bag.

“BEGIN!”

‘Big Mooscles’ wasted no time, charging forward. For a brief second, Edmund feared that he would have to contend with the bull’s horns before he was nearly blindsided by a jab aimed at his abs. He could feel the leather of the glove just barely graze him while he stepped back with a speed and agility he didn’t know he had.

The bull grunted as he got back in stance, both gloves at eye level, with a deep baritone. “Not bad, kid. But you don’t belong here. I can see it in your eyes. The wimp at the desk should’ve turned you away.”

“Fuck you, man.” He returned the blow with one of his own, connecting with the wrapped knuckles of his left paw. Unfortunately, as his fist collided with the bull’s skull, Edmund realized that as strong as he had become, he didn’t know how to apply it. Without following through, his jab was more of a gentle tap.

With numerous opponents under his belt, ‘Big Mooscles’ was no stranger to taking a few hits, and even before processing that sheer lack of pain in his face, he was ready to return that blow with one of his own, especially since the little brat left himself wide open. In the time it took to retract his fist, Edmund felt another body blow, and this time one it struck true. The bull wore a scowl on his face as he spoke, unamused by the caliber of his opposition. “I don’t think it’s fun to beat up a little pussy cat, but I got a job to do, kid. You asked for it.”

The striped feline wobbled on his feet, but he didn’t fall. A large bruise was visible even through the fur, one that almost any onlooker would have been able to spot. And yet, once more he got into his stance.

“Kid, bow out now befor-” Before he could finish, Azure Lightning rushed in with another jab, which the bull weaved out of the way of before countering with a round kick to the inner thigh. Once more, the tiger briefly buckled as pain shot through his leg, but again he stood firm. With both fighters reset, Big Mooscles got a good look at his opponent. Though he would not let it show, the sight unnerved him.

That massive bruise he made on his kid’s stomach… he could swear that it was healing itself before his eyes. Sure enough, in just a few seconds it was as if he had never landed a hit. As a fighter, the bull knew that medical magic could fix most injuries. He had been cared for both by mages and magic potions often enough to be comfortable with injuries mending themselves. He also knew that a magic damper went on before the start of every match, one that blocked the effects of every spell and potion except the one that the announcer used on his voicebox. There was no way anyone should be able to recover that quickly. And yet, ‘Azure Lightning’ was standing as if the entire first minute of this two minute fight had never happened in the first place. “What the fuck are you, kid!?” The bull’s confusion was giving way to anger, steam practically spewing from his bright red ears.

Edmund was counting on that. As he started growing up, he realized that he was changing in ways the other kids weren’t. Not only was he bulking up faster, picking up on stuff no one else was, but once he grew well enough to roughhouse with the other kids he was able to shrug off scrapes, cuts, and bruises no one of them were able to. His old man had a reputation for living through impossible shit, so he figured that might have something to do with it. Whatever the case, the prize money was for lasting two minutes, not winning. Anything else was just for show. “Lastin’ the full two minutes. That’s what I am.”

“I don’t get paid that way, kid. Fuck that.” Once more, the bull went in, and though Edmund was fast enough to block a few punches and kicks, he fell for a feint that left another opening for a round kick to his side. That alone wouldn’t have been enough, but as he was recovering another front kick to the stomach sent him reeling, causing him to finally stumble. Big Mooscles calmed down, steadied his breath as ‘Azure Lightning’ finally began to fall.

Just as Edmund’s knees began to crumble underneath him, a magically-amplified voice rang out through the warehouse.

“TIME! AZURE LIGHTNING IS THE WINNER!”

Holding himself up off the ground with one hand, after falling to his knees, Edmund could already feel the bruising on his side fade.

“Can’t believe a goddamn kid did me in.” ‘Big Mooscles’ extended his arm, and the tiger took his gloved wrist, using it to pull himself back up on his feet. “You fight like shit, but you can take a hit. And that’s what counts today.”

“Thanks… I think?” Already good as new, Edmund started bouncing on the balls of his feet, using full body shakes to work remaining fatigue out of his system. He beamed, knowing that the prize money for tonight was going directly to him.

With the adrenaline of the fight wearing off, and his anger just beginning to subside, gears began to turn in the bull’s head. Recovering that quickly and completely after being brought to one’s knees was no small feat. Even he, with all his experience and training, taking almost no damage, had to cool himself down. “Look, I’m pissed that I got nothin’ to show for beating eighteen people tonight, but I’ll get over it. But if you want to keep going with ‘Azure Lightning’, you could make something of yourself, kid.”

The lack of bullshit, judging by his sense, coming from the actual bull was enough to draw Edmund’s interest. He stepped forward, intrigued by the idea of making a ‘career’ out of this. “You bein’ serious right now?”

“Course I am, kid. You got everything it takes to win except the know-how. You’re too raw. Figure out how to fight, and you’d be a scary.” An almost imperceptible wincing from Big Mooscles made it clear that admitting this was almost physically painful.

“Thanks, man. I’ll keep that in mind.” With a bump of their fists, the bull went backstage.

Another magically-amplified shout echoed through the hall, seemingly for the last time that night, “And with our champion defeated, the show is over for tonight, folks. Azure Lighting wins the prize.”

The crowd began to disperse. Beastkin in coveralls worked quickly to dismantle and hide the ring so that the warehouse would be ready to receive any potential inspectors come morning.

---

The burning, orange sun was rising on a brisk, yet comfortable morning as Edmund made his way back home, carrying a sack on his back, dangling from his fingers, that he didn’t leave his house with. It was clearly weighed down by something, but not enough to encumber the young tiger. He could already see Ms. Jezebel just inside her front door, the bags of her eyes having grown deeper. An uncomfortable feeling crept up inside him, wondering if was kept up all night out of worry. Whatever breath she was holding expelled from her chest as she opened the door to greet him. Before he even spoke a word, she was looking him up and down, doubtless inspecting him for cuts or bruises.

“Looks like this old hag was worried for nuthin’. Yer as fit and fine as ya were when you left. Welcome back, Ed.” Whatever force kept her upright drained away, forcing the old mutt to sit on top of the bench on her porch. And yet, a smile kept its way onto her weary visage.

“Thanks, Ms. Jezebel. I mean it. Yer always takin’ care of me.” He could feel the tremors in his hands as he started talking, despite his best efforts. When tears began to well up inside him, he fought them off even harder than he did Big Mooscles.

It did not go unnoticed by the old canine. She started to fret over him as well as she could from the comfort of her bench. “Oh dear. Ed, you sound serious. What’s wrong?”

“It’s just- most of us livin’ here know that yer in a tight spot. Y’know?” No one ever wanted to talk about it, but some things can’t be avoided.

“Oh Ed. We all are. It’s difficult, sure. But Henry and I will be fine. We always bounce back.” It was an obvious lie, though Edmund wondered if she was lying to herself more than she was lying to him.

“I know, but I wanted to do something anyway.” He wasn’t looking at her, gazing holes into her footpads.

She caressed his cheek almost as if he was her own son. “Yer not even a grown man yet, Edmund. I know the stipend you get from your father’s commission barely pays for your own needs.” That’s when he opened the bag, revealed that it was full of golden Oplentian divits, coins minted in Oplentis itself. Her hands moved to her muzzle before she could even think about it. She could feel the old ticker quicken as her thoughts spiraled. “Ed, please tell me ya didn’t do all this for our sake.”

“Nah, Mrs. Jezebel. I got something I wanna save for, but it ain’t right for me to do all this without thinkin’ of you. Take as much as ya, need. Please.” He lifted the bag, placing it directly in front of her.

Without realizing it, she scooched her seat away from the bag. “Ed, I can’t-”

“You have to! Please, just think of it like borrowing from me if ya need to. Beats having to take another loan out, right? C’mon.” He got on his hands and knees, pleading.

Taking it all in, she relented, breathing the heaviest sigh Edmund had ever heard from her. She spoke with a firm, but defeated tone. “Fine. Fine, Ed. But only enough to pay this month, and never again, okay. I appreciate you lookin’ out fer us, but I have my pride. I won’t accept another favor like this.”

“I unders-” Edmund’s reply was cut short when Mrs. Jezebel made a motion of a mouth closing with her hand.

“And it is a favor. One I will repay. I don’t like taking money from children.” She put her hand on his shoulder, beckoning him to rise. “Now bring that in’n lock it up in the usual spot. Don’t want yer money to go to waste before you’ve even ‘ad the chance to spend it.”

“Okay.” They gave each other an understanding smile, and he secured the prize winnings where he knew they’d be safe.

Without much else to do, and still not tired despite his nighttime excursion, Edmund returned to the Market District, taking a seat near one of the stores that had yet to open, its shutter vandalized by a street artist. Though it was early morning, the city had yet to fully rouse from its slumber. It would probably be another day of working odd jobs around the market, a slow but steady income to finance his true goal.

Ain’t gonna get out of this city anytime soon if I dun pick up the pace. I don’t regret helpin’ Mrs. Jezebel, but that kind of money could’ve paid for a smuggler for sure.

Reflecting on everything that happened last night, another, complimentary thought crossed his mind.

Prize fightin’. That might work. Guess I’m his son after all, even if the sonnava bitch won’t even look at me.

---

---

I told myself that I would double down on doing more writing this year, and thus far I have. This is one of the fruits of that effort, and I am actively working on another.

I've always been interested in visiting Edmund's younger days, after his dad left but before he found his way to Enigma. Bereft of another new big hook to expand on, I found that this was a good opportunity to explore than angle with a short story.

I'm following the muse where it takes me, and we'll see how far that goes.

And credit to  Marsel-Defender, for providing this excellent illustration to go with this tale.

Please favorite the artist's submission here: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/62964796/

Art by  Marsel-Defender
Edmund and story/setting are wholly my own.