Coached by Kondor



Joe looked around the hospital bed. He was happy. He was surrounded by his third wife, children, grandchildren, and a couple of friends. Right now the pain was not so bad. It was just a little hard to breathe. Maybe if he took a little nap it would be better later.
…………….
The smell of ammonia woke him with a start. The pugilist had used enough smelling salts in his day to recognize the fragrance. But instead of a hospital bed, he found himself on a cot. Rather than the aches and pains cancer and the trembles of Parkinsonism he felt strong and steady. He put a hand on his head trying to figure out what was happening and found something hard protruding above his temple.

A gruff but not unkind voice spoke assuring words. “Take it slow. You were just pulled from the void.”

Completely bewildered Joe sat up to assess the situation. Clearly he was in a locker-room. He had been in enough of them to recognize one even with oddities. Rather than shower heads, a bucket of water hung in a stall. Rather than metal lockers, wooden containers lined the walls. He tried to speak but he was too parched to utter a sound. 

At last his eyes settled on the other individual in the room. The fellow was slender, tall, and clean shaven. Joe would estimate him to be about 60 years of age but you could never tell with a fighter. The cauliflower ears, crooked nose, and steel jaw betrayed years of brutality in the ring.

The fellow handed him a mug of water. “I will be your trainer. Everyone calls me Match. I am sure you have some questions so just sit back and take in what I tell you. It is going to take a little while to wrap your head around this.”

Joe suddenly felt a little light headed so he took Match’s advice and slid back on the cot until he could lean his back against the wall.

Match began. “I want to make this simple and let it sink in before I get into the most complicated part of the story. Joe, you died. Your old life is over but because of your deeds and talents you have been brought to this arena.”

Joe remembered the hospital, and he could not deny the current situation. Either Match spoke the truth or this was dream induced by the hospital pain killers. Either way, Joe decided to play along. After a long pause he looked at Match and nodded in understanding then motioned for him to continue.

Match resumed. “You are one of the best fighters your world ever saw. Your tough and your fists could have been lethal weapons. Those are lucrative assets in this world. We have been watching you. As your last breath expired, a mage from this world pulled your soul here before it could move to the judgment ground. You will find that the body you inhabit here is nearly identical to your previous one. I say nearly identical because this one has been modified and perfected. Let’s get you up and about so you can acclimate a bit and we will have a look in a mirror while we are at it.”

Match extended a hand to help Joe to his feet. Joe wobbled a bit and looked down to find that where his feet had been he now found hooves. His eyes widened, startled at the sight.

Match put a calming hand on his shoulder. “Like I said. Perfected.” He stated.

It took a few minutes to learn to walk on hooves but he found it really was not a big deal. At last they found a mirror and what he saw was too much to handle. He looked exactly as he had forty years earlier. Young, fit, strong, chiseled, and tough. Except for one point. From either side of his head and above his temples sprouted horns that rose and then curled below his ears.

He recoiled and then crouched as the worst body blow had just been landed. He looked at his cloven hooves and put a hand on his horns. “I am a daemon and I have been sent to hell.” He lamented.

Match reached down and grabbed one of the horns and gave him a shake. “Nonsense! There has been no judgement. You will be routed back to judgement once you are ripped from this body. For now you have been recruited to do what you do best. Pound people to a pulp. I thought you were a fighter. Get up rookie. You need to meet the team and learn the game.”
.............
Several months passed and Joe acclimated to his new surroundings. However, he was worse than a rookie. He had never heard of the gladiatorial sport he would be forced to play. Fortunately, the team already had their quotient of warriors so he joined the training squad and prepared for the day an opening would come.

It came sooner than expected. The female warrior of Slaanesh took a block in the knee that clearly tore tendons. Match and the medic did what they could but despite her skills on the field she would never be able to move like before.

She took the news unexpectedly well. Before they could cut her from the team, she announced that while blood bowl had been a nice distraction, she had been called on to battle. She had found a raiding party and would seek glory for Slaanesh on the field of battle.

As she bid farewell, Joe knew his day on the pitch had come.
..........................

Funny how nicknames work in the “afterlife.” When the wizard pulled Joe from the abyss he called for “Smokin Joe.” That is exactly what he got. A result of the spell caused a mist to rise from Joe’s skin. In most situations it was imperceptible, but as he became emotional, that mist became an obvious smoke.

He was smoking now as he took a place on the line of scrimmage across from a slightly smaller ratman. The whistle blew and the ratman took a swing at Joe. It was the last mistake for that rat that day. A lifetime of instinct took over. Joe dodged and countered with a hard left, with his gauntleted fist finding a sweet spot below the creature’s ear along its jaw. The creature dropped to the ground in a heap and would later be dragged from the field.

With the KO under his belt, Joe relaxed and glanced around. His rat was not the only one on the ground. The one at Sigmar’s feet clutched his back and writhed in agony.

Joe stepped beside the more experienced Chaos Warrior and together they continued to punish the skaven.

After the match, Sigmar patted the rookie on the shoulder and gave him a nod of approval. In the locker room he learned that because of his showing, the fans had actually named him Most Valuable Player of the Game.

The game against the rats was just the beginning. The next game was a bloodletting where in the defeat Sigmar killed a pair of High Elf linemen. Joe took note of the technique and from that point forward his blocking skills were greatly improved.

At that point he started preparing for the Warpstone Open. The draw pitted BAM against some dark elves called Galaga. It was a disaster. The dark elves seemed to score at will and they even broke the neck of poor Zoebugs. The Minotaur really is a gentle giant. 

The only reprieve came as Joe dropped a combination an elf named Mario. His blood boiled in frustration as the right jab glanced and then a left hook to the body landed solidly before another right cross put the elf to the ground. He stood glowering over the elf as he felt the touch and then heard the whisper of the chaos god. The rasping voice seemed to screech in his mind.

“I am Malal and I have chosen you Joe. You are my agent. You will undermine this team and the other forces of Chaos. In return I have made you nearly impervious on the field of battle. Further, when the day comes and you once again shirk that mortal coil, I will escort you to the judgement gate. There I will explain to the gatekeeper all you have done to thwart my brethren in this realm.”

As Joe stood helpless to stop Galaga score its third point of the game, he felt the skin below his armor hardening into another layer of protection for his bones and organs. His ears rang and his eyes narrowed. He responded in the only way his dormant religious upbringing taught. He cringed at the blasphemy and muttered. “Thy will be done.”

--------------------

Desperate times call for desperate measures. It turned out that orcs can win games from time to time. Today, was one of those time. They had just scored and with little time on the clock a comeback was unlikely. Worse, they had already killed a dirty beastman and Gazzatrot. Joe had no intention of dying this game.

Before the final kick off he went to the bench and picked up a gauntlet that had just been modified for him. 

According to the dwarf he certainly had overpaid, the gauntlet was made of a material called gromril which was harder than any steel. And, for what it was worth it, the giant spike protruding from the fist had been engraved with a "rune of penetration." The dwarf had not been amused when Joe suggested that particular rune could be more useful on a codpiece. When he put the gauntlet on to test the fit, it began to throb. At that point he was certain dwarfs put those runes on codpieces.

Now the gauntlet and the rune would be put to the test.

Joe tightened the straps securing the gauntlet to the rest of his armor then took his place on the line to await the kickoff. The whistle sounded and the ball was in the air. Without wasting a moment, the former pugilist threw a powerful right jab directly at the head of his opponent. The orc was a rookie but no amateur fighter. He turned his head to allow his helmet to absorb the blow. Whether by chance or due to the enhancement of the rune, the spike found the tiny ear hole on the helmet and drove directly into orc gray matter. It was dead before it hit the ground.

Joe pulled free from the corpse and saw black orcs and trolls take a step back after witnessing the punch. Indeed. This spike would be useful.
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In the middle of a long practice, Joe found himself sitting on the bench next to a beastman appropriately named The Demon. He had avoided beastmen as much as possible because a carnivorous goat/man hybrid seemed to be torn from the pages of Dante’s Inferno. Amongst themselves they spoke in a tongue that seemed to be bleating and when they spoke the human language it was completely unnatural. But now, as they sat on the sideline together, The Demon chose to address him.

“Why don’t you use the gifts Malal gave you?” he asked.

Joe feigned ignorance but was curious. “What gifts do you mean, and who is Malal?”

The goat groaned. “Never mind. You have more abilities than you choose to see.”

Now Joe was getting annoyed. “Spit it out Mutton Chop. What do you mean? I give everything on the field every day and train harder than any of you?”

The Demon did not take the bait but replied calmly. “Those horns on your head should be more than decorative. When you get a charge at an opponent, lead with your head. See that Minotaur on the practice squad? On the next play from scrimmage just lower your head when you blitz him.”

Joe took a swig of water thane returned to the practice field. He told Match that he would like to blitz the mino. Coach match called the play and Joe took a run at the creature who seemed to be laughing when he saw what was happening. At the last moment he lowered his head and shoulder hitting the creature in the abdomen. He heard a rib crack and the creature fell to his knees. At first he thought it was a fluke so he jogged over to the tackling trolls. Over and over he hit the trolls who were paid simply to take a beating. In less than an hour the trolls had given up. They demanded a raise if this was the work they would be expected to do.

Smiling, he walked back to the makeshift gym he had created behind the arena and started lifting. Now he was convinced the horns had a use. A little while later Match caught up with him.

“What in the name of Slaanesh’s virtue are you doing now?” questioned Match.

Joe ignored him for a moment a pushed hard on a wagon axle he had affixed to a pair barrels filled with water lifting into the air repeatedly. As he did so he counted. “48, 49, 50.” At the count of 50 he set the bar on the props he had secured above him.

“For a trainer, you don’t know much about being healthy.” He said to Match. “No one around here does. Sure, some like Sigmar are blessed with monstrous physiques. The rest of us have to work at it. Do you really think Klazam got so fast and agile by chasing skirts? And what about Gnoblar? He’s developed some strength by wrestling lizards with those tentacles. Well, where I come from we avoid lizards in their habitat so I’ve gotta bulk up the old fashioned way.”

Match responded. “So what do you need me for if ya got it all figured out?”

Joe walked to his trainer. A smoky grey mist made the fighter look even larger. “You know everything there is to know about my opponents. While I am getting stronger, it is not enough to punch through armor of this realm. They call it a mighty blow here but I need you to teach me how to inflict damage with my mitts. Seriously, how do you get through the armor of a long beard or the hard head of an ogre?”

Match smiled. Now the young player was speaking his language and showing the desire to become a talent on the field.

“Son, yer just not thinking about it right. Don’t try to punch through that dwarf armor. Use that strength, pick him up, and crush him straight down on his dome. Don’t try to manhandle the ogre. Leave that to Sigmar. Rather, when Sig has him tied up hit him as hard as you can in the side of the knee. If you do it right, the leg will buckle and down he comes. I tell you we have a lot to talk about.”

As the pair headed to the tavern, it seemed that Joe had already learned an old world trick or two.