F. Scott Fitzgerald Super Novel, a blog, the novel Champions, a fantasy

Champions, a fantasy novel

by Jacob Malewitz

1st Two Chapters

200 jacket

Prologue: Janus The Watcher

Janus was a man of Roman taste and Greek temperament.  He was Roman by blood, but had found that true greatness, for a god, lay in serving the deities of Greece.  Zeus initially had proposed the idea of using Janus—the Roman opener of gateways—to create a Pantheon on the mountain of Olympus.  It would  be a process, a trial and error test of things, to gather all the greats of history into one place.  

So Janus assembled almost all the greatest warriors of humanity existence in order to fight in the Pantheon.  His job had been given to him by Zeus; yet he was sure that Aries and Athena and El had each played parts.  

The game was simple but the rules these heroes and generals lived by was different. The fact that all the generals couldn’t fight with a blade wasn’t a surprise.  The surprise was which ones, as you would think certain men would know how to fight—if you listened to the stories. 

It was a simple foreword when you tried to explain to the warriors why they had been chosen.  Yet as the story progressed it became more difficult to explain the reason for the Pantheon.  These men had families, empires.  And amidst it all was a distrust of men they had sworn to fight.  The Greeks, like Pericles and Leonidas, were hated by the Persians; for the Greeks and Persians were mortal enemies, constantly at war.    

It was as clear that these were the days legends were to be born.  At first the fighters were cautious, they watched everyone else instead of focusing on the fight at hand.  Then certain among them stood out, rose above the rest.  

Janus decided to take many warriors from different times.  From the medieval age came the Black Knight, who was exceptional with his sword.  From Africa during the second century BC came Hannibal.  Hannibal had the sharpest eyes, and used tactics to throw his opponents off before they even use their swords to strike at him. 

So it became obvious that these were the two of the greatest warriors. The Black Knight, who kept his identity secret and fought with some unspoken form of honor; and Hannibal, a skilled general but an underrated one on one fighter.   The deities who watched the battles each quietly chose their champions, some siding with the advanced Black Knight while others thought Hannibal to be unbeatable.    

   Janus wanted to wait until the two champions would cross swords before he put his colors behind one of them.  

   Then the Greeks stepped up. Pericles of Athens showed skills in narrowly losing to Hannibal.  Had Hannibal not launched his spear at Pericles in a quick strike across the Pantheon the outcome would have been much different.  Whilst Leonidas of the great city-state Sparta defeated every opponent who came at him.  

   Zeus had his son Hercules enter the fights.  He came to a draw with the Black Knight after a certain amount of time passed with neither champion falling; and showed his mastery of the Greek style of fighting by defeating every hoplite who opposed him.  

Janus had his eyes on other people: warriors several millennium ahead in time.  He knew humanity continued to create warriors who developed different skills as new technologies were found.  He had so many choices.  At first he had focused on heroes and generals who had been written about by the great chroniclers of the Greek and Roman empires, as he was a Hellenistic god, but then it became apparent the writers of those peoples hadn’t recorded some of the better fighters to the West.  

   It was clear to Janus that the warriors he had brought from all the expanses of the Earth were filling their roles well.  They made small talk between fights, and friendships were born.

   In one of the better battles of the Pantheon Hannibal and Hercules had fought like the titans of old.  Janus watched the battle with excitement, his adrenaline rushing just by gazing at them.  These two men were a study in contrasts.  Hercules was white. Hannibal black.  Hercules was muscular and slow.  Hannibal slim and quick on his feet.  While Hercules appeared to relish every battle Hannibal had seemed nervous in previous fights.  Still, both were undefeated in the Pantheon.  

   Before the battle began Hercules declined to use a weapon to the chagrin of the weapons master; Hercules had declined weapons countless times—as he preferred to work with only his hands—and each time the weapons master for the Pantheon had thought it stupid.  “His luck will soon run out,” the weapons master had said prior to Hercules’ victory over a hoplite warrior.  

   Hannibal decided to fight without a weapon so he would lose no honor.  Janus knew Hercules would have a great advantage in strength; but Hannibal would use his smarts and speed to win the fight. Hannibal was the best strategist of the ancient world.  He had followings all across the Mediterranean…people who thought his exploits great enough to be written about.    

   As people began to trade bets—using swords and shields as most of them lacked coins—it became clear that without his weapon Hannibal would be a long shot. Janus’ mind told him Hannibal would lose to the Greek hero; but his heart told him Hannibal would refuse to lose this match.   

   As the two warriors waited for the Pantheon Headmaster to begin the fight,Janus continued to think the two warriors an odd match.  

   The expressions on their faces alone could fill a canvas. 

   And then the Headmaster held up his hand and the fight was on.  Like two wolves seeing a fresh kill the two warriors circled each other, drawing closer and closer with each step.  Hercules didn’t show anything to Hannibal.  Janus knew how Hannibal fought, as did Hercules, it seemed.  The tactician would break him down if he did.  As the two warriors circled the Pantheon’s arena Hannibal began to throw bits of sand at Hercules—trying to anger him with cheap tactics.  It did nothing to Hercules’ resolve, though he did seem annoyed. Then Hannibal picked up his walking pace—almost to a light jog—and tore off his armor and started to run in circle around Hercules.  Hercules took his chances and tried to hit Hannibal with his fist, but missed.

   Hannibal took advantage of the move—which exposed Hercules side—and sent his leg into Hercules gut.  Hercules didn’t even flinch.  No pain was evident and he threw another blow that almost knocked Hannibal off his feat.  

   Hercules smiled, his first show of emotion, and began to speak, but Janus couldn’t hear him.  Hannibal grabbed a fistful of sand and was about to throw it when Hercules ran straight into him.  Hannibal tried to avoid Hercules body but when they collided he was knocked over.  

   Janus thought the fight was over.  Hannibal had been hit hard and there was no way he could steal a victory here.  He thought he would have won had Hercules used a weapon, as it would have negated Hercules strength.  

   But as it was Hannibal was going to lose.  He pushed himself off the ground, spit some blood onto the dirt, and then approached Hercules again with a renewed vigor.  

   He doesn’t stand a chance.  

   Hannibal held his hands out and said a few words to Hercules.  He stepped back, then ran towards Hercules.  Hercules fist shot out into the air like an arrow and nearly connected, but when the blow missed Hannibal saw his chance.  He put his two fists together and they came down on Hercules head.  

   Hercules stepped back, then hit the ground.  Hannibal circled the hero and then jabbed him with his leg into his neck.  Hercules grimaced in pain.  Hannibal jumped on him and pounded against Hercules’ face until he was out cold.  

   He didn’t raise his hands in the air as befitted a champion, didn’t gloat. he merely looked to the sky, to whatever god he believed in, and said a few words.  

   The fight was over.  Hercules was knocked out and Hannibal was bloodied.  Hannibal had done what few men could--he had taken out a hero of the highest degree.  Janus hadn’t thought Hannibal could do it; he even had considered placing a bet against him.  But something about Hannibal’s eyes made him hesitate.  So dark; and they reflected the sunlight like a mirror.  And then his skin seemed hardened by days in the sun: it was a combination of tan and black.  He wasn’t muscular in the way the befitted a warrior; more he was a soldier in how he walked and positioned himself.  It would be easy to underestimate a man of Hannibal’s stature if you didn’t know who he was.  He was a Carthaginian of the first order.    

   Janus looked to Zues, who seemed upset by his son’s loss.  At his heart Zeus was more of a fan of the tools used in war than war itself; war was something for Aries to focus on.  Zeus swung a different way, and Janus knew Zeus would get over his son’s defeat; Hercules would fight again; but it was Hannibal who had a chance of being the next champion of the Pantheon.  

   Janus had other thoughts on his mind.  This master of gateways saw potential in Hannibal; but that didn’t negate the simple fact of life, that there is always someone better.  Janus hoped that the next group of warriors might raise the stakes of the game.  There was the Roman named Trajan; and then there was the fighter who didn’t even know his skills, named Johnny McGavin.  

CH. Trajan’s Call

   Trajan was a figure without comparison, but his greatness was overshadowed by Caesar for most of his lifetime.  He was the first emperor of Rome to not be Italian, but what really made him stand out was the way he waged war.  He was an ambitious lion on the battlefield, too hungry to not enter the fray.  And he had risen fast because of his ambitions; ambition was what Rome thrived on.  

   So he became a soldier of the highest order, a man amongst shadows of men.  Rome was growing sick with decadence; yet it was still as powerful as it was in the Punic Wars against Carthage.  Its roads expanded more land with every day; only problem was less and less Romans came out to defend the glory of Rome.  

   But Trajan was always ready to defend Rome.  But that in itself was a case in point.  Without a strong emperor how would the republic hold?  

   Trajan stayed away from the politics that was tearing Rome apart.  The only way Rome could retain its greatness, he thought, was to continue to expand the reaches of the empire.  To fight until there was no one left to fight; and to build like there was no tomorrow.  

   His first campaign as emperor was an expedition to quell unrest in the rich lands of Syria.  There he had found a wife—a woman of exceptional character and talents—and there he had found that if he fought next to his men they would fight like the gods themselves.  

   Greece was his next stop.  He didn’t believe in gods, but it was said anyone who wanted to become leader of the republic had to consult with the Delphi in order to have a vision of empire.  The event came and went, like a tide, and only left him with more questions than answers.  He was sure the mystics were lying to him when they had said he would enter a second world, a place outside of this reality.  

   After it he went to Rome and grew sick.  For months he was like this; he became almost helpless; yet his wife stayed with him through the sickness, and when his health returned to him he sought out battles.  

   And on the lands of Gaul he thought he could find the glory men like Caesar had found. 

   Trajan had been scouting in the woods of Gaul with two of his Praetorian guards when they heard noises of men coming close to them.  They were obviously drunk as they were yelling loudly; but that didn’t make them any less dangerous.  Trajan had to use his instincts to tell him where the attack would come from.  He heard footsteps in the distance.  He put his ears to the ground and recognized about twenty men coming their way.

   He signaled silence from his two praetorian guards, then told them to hit the dirt.  He wanted them to think there was only one Roman here.  

   If they had known whom they were fighting these Gauls might have turned back right where they came from.  But Trajan looked like a regular soldier—chest plate shielding his body; studded iron helmet; gladius blade; and two javelins—rather than the emperor that he was.  His captains had told him that he shouldn’t go on scouting missions with only two guards, they wanted at least a century to go with him, yet he knew if he had done that they would have left traces that they had been there; and it was vital that they held the element of surprise.  If the Gauls knew three roman legions were in the area they would likely retreat and try to sweep around onto the supply line; at least that’s what Trajan would have done.  He made it his business to stay a few moves ahead of his opponent, and if he could do that victory was that much closer.  

   When Trajan saw them within twenty meters of his position he made it known that he was there by banging the edge of his blade against his armor.  The Gauls all stopped and started whispering to each other.  Trajan didn’t know the language that these warriors spoke, but he could sense they smelled blood, they wanted to fight; and that’s just what Trajan wanted as well.  

   The first move came from the Gauls as they spread out and encircled him.  They were making sure Trajan didn’t have a route of escape.  

   They must think me mad for not running.

   He was very confident.  He planned out the battle in a way that would give him an advantage.  He had the Praetorians, the best soldiers Rome could muster; and he knew that without them he couldn’t win this fight.  

   They slowly stepped closer, waiting for Trajan to run—but he never did.  Trajan held off a smile; he was going to take them all down; and that would be one less raiding party to disrupt his supply lines.  The Gauls weren’t strong in direct attacks, they lived off hitting and running.  

   One of the Gauls didn’t think Trajan had seen him out of the corner of his eye. He tried to sneak up behind the emperor.  Trajan waited for just the right moment then rested his hand on his javelin, turned around, and threw it into the head of the Gaul standing a mere ten feet away. The Gaul lost all control over his body and hit the ground.  The others, not surprised by this, continued to close the distance with Trajan.  He grasped his other javelin and threw it at the man he thought was the leader; he hoped that by taking this man out the others might not immediately retreat when the Praetorians showed themselves.  

   The javelin pierced the Gaul leader’s chest, he groaned in agony and fell to the ground.  Trajan signaled and the two hiding Praetorians jumped up; each had a javelin ready and threw them towards a pack of Gauls.  Two more Gauls were hit in their chests and fell quickly to the ground.  Four down.  The others showed courage and charged the Romans.  Two more javelins were thrown by the Praetorians one striking a Gaul in the leg and the other narrowly missing another.  

   Trajan realized that they couldn’t be allowed to retreat and give the rest of the Gauls news of the arrival of the Roman army.  He knew if that happened his plan to surprise them would be gone.  So with fury he charged into the heart of the group, blade in hand.  “Emperor!” One of the Praetorians sworn to protect him yelled out.  “Emperor this is not the time for heroics!”  The Praetorians charged to his sides watching his flanks as he cut down Gaul after Gaul.  He used his blade skillfully, but the Gauls never wavered.  

He saw one of his Praetorians fall and then killed before he could do anything about it.  This obviously disturbed the other Praetorian and he rushed to Trajan’s other side and decaptitated the Gaul.  Just then, right when Trajan’s survival was in jeopardy, he heard a sound he had never heard before; and saw a light he had never seen before.  Whatever it was he dropped his blade.  The second Praetorians looked at him then at the light.  Trajan looked back to the second Praetorian as the light washed over him.  

   It was like he was being pulled through time in some mystical gateway.  He didn’t believe in visions or in dreams pointing to things in life; what he believed in was that men believed in what they needed to believe in.  And he didn’t waste his time on such thoughts.  But the moment the light enveloped him he began to wonder if he was being punished for his pagan views on the world.