Magic Multiverse 30 (Patreon)

Sam found it very difficult to hold back his whistling even as he hung another heavy bag, marking another step in his very busy day. It was fun to set up a place that felt permanent for once, even if he was doing in a town filled with vampires.

After all, he had certain advantages.

Advantages that were accumulating faster and faster.

[Tantric - Expert 290/1000

Boxing - Expert 242/1000

Wand Magic Theory - Advanced 60/250

Soccer - Advanced 53/250 (Midfielder)

Magical Combat - Advanced 40/250

Acrobatics - Advanced 45/250

Crossbow - Advanced 16/250

Wiccan Magic - Advanced 5/250

Chess - Intermediate 74/100

Bojutsu - Intermediate 33/100

Darts - Intermediate 21/100

Vampire Lore - Intermediate 0/100

Meditation -Intermediate 0/100

Poker - Basic 14/50]

There was still a lot of work to be done. The upstairs was still empty, as the flat came without any furniture. Luckily, the appliances were included.

Thanks to that, he had been able to wash and dry his and Buffy’s clothes after patrol … while they were busy handling Buffy’s little problem after monster slaying. He had to admit, it was a fun way to spend the night.

The only little snag was that in the morning, Buffy seemed very determined to not to let him patrol with her again, citing danger, but he merely nodded along, distracted her with kisses until it was time for her to leave for her class; so she had to accept that, with his ‘incredible’ knack for using a crossbow, it made sense to him to join another patrol.

Timing helped; though what helped more was the reputation of her professor. Apparently, Professor Walsh was a true hardass in the class.

With her gone, he spent most of his day on errands. First, he stopped by the car rental, by the car shop to get a sensible car he could use regularly … though he somehow failed that when he saw a 1973 model Mustang convertible being sold for cheap. The body needed some serious work, but the garage had no idea what they had in their hands.

He still remembered one of his football rivals bragging about his brand-new Mustang back when he signed his contract. He couldn’t help it.

Luckily, for three thousand, with a solid engine, it was practically free.

Having a car of his own made errands easier. He spent the rest of his day shopping around, but he focused on the gym. He purchased new bags, including one with extra reinforcement for Buffy’s use, knowing the ordinary ones wouldn’t survive her full power.

He hadn’t kept himself limited to that. He had scoured every martial arts shops, purchased staffs, swords of both wooden and real variety, an axe, a spear, throwing daggers, darts, and a sundry of other stuff. He didn’t know if and when they would be useful, but they were not exactly expensive.

He could always place around as decoration if they proved less useful than he had realized, but with his battles against vampires giving a lot of rewards in the early stages, it was a worthy investment.

If nothing else, it would solidify his reputation as a quick learner.

Setting up the gym took a lot of time. That meant he wasn’t able to spend any time upstairs other than buying a bedroll that would see him for a day or two, but he decided that, in a city filled with vampires and many other creatures, security was more important than comfort.

It was also why, once he finished setting the last bag, he planned to visit Magic Box and see if he could find some ingredients, to cast a few Wiccan spells. Even at Advanced, Wiccan magic didn’t have a lot of stuff, but a ward that would alert him to a hostile approach was certainly possible.

He also wanted to experiment with adding some basic anti-vampire enchantments to his weapons, to see if he could make them more permanent. And, in general, packing some extra healing ingredients, both the usual first aid kits, and the more effective magical kind, seemed like a good idea.

However, before he could do so, he heard a knock on the door. He looked through the large window, and saw a familiar face. The guy who had been striking out very badly when he was trying to flirt with Buffy, though he couldn’t remember the name.

“Hey, I think I have seen you around,” the guy said.

“Possibly,” Sam responded, even though he knew exactly why. “I have been around for a week or so? Maybe you have seen me passing fliers.”

“That’s it,” he said. Sam smiled, as he certainly hadn’t started passing fliers. He didn’t even get any printed. “I was looking for a proper fighting gym. Having one near the dorms is very convenient.”

“A customer is always welcome,” Sam responded. “I haven’t set any group classes yet, but if you’re interested—“

“Actually, I’m more interested in sparring,” he responded. Sam didn’t miss the way the guy’s fist tightened happily. He clearly wanted to beat him up due to what he seemed to think as a slight.

He was dealing with an entitled, corn-fed American, Sam decided. Unfortunately, that was inevitable. Not everyone in Sunnydale could be as pleasant as Buffy and Willow … even discounting the extracurriculars they shared.

Sam was almost tempted to drop some fun facts about Buffy in bed.

Almost.

The guy was annoying, but he liked Buffy too much to risk ruining their budding harmony with something so crass. “Sure,” he said. “However, I don’t have any assistants, and private sparring is not a cheap service. I usually charge a hundred dollars a round.”

It was an excessive rate. Even in Dudley’s excessively luxury gym, per round pricing for sparring was usually fifty pounds, and it came from retired pros with reputation. And, that gym was in the middle of London.

Back in Liam’s gym, a decent sparring partner would charge at most five pounds per round, if that. Of course, they wouldn’t be as good as him by any stretch, but his enthusiastic opponent didn’t know that.

“Perfect,” the guy said instead, accepting without blinking. He seemed to be very enthusiastic about punching him.

Well, Sam decided. He was welcome to try, as long as he was willing to pay a hundred dollars for every three minutes. “You can pick the gloves. I recommend 16oz,” he said. It was the thickest glove, which was the safest for a spar.

“8oz,” he immediately corrected, showing that he was confident.

Sam thought about offering to go bare-knuckles, but he decided against it. It would be too mean. Even 8oz gloves were a bit too much, because above middleweight classes, 10oz was professionally recommended. Ultimately, the guy didn’t try to pull the pathetic trick Parker tried, and tried to beat him by numbers.

He was there to fight as a man, even paying for the privilege. That deserved some respect.

“Fine, 8oz, but only because you’re my first customer,” Sam said. “By the way, what’s the name?” he said.

“Riley. Riley Finn,” Riley replied, his smile considerably more relaxed after he achieved his aim. “Do you mind I warm up?”

“Of course not,” Sam responded, and watched Riley warm up, assessing the guy. He had decent training, he decided, but how much, he wasn’t sure, because Riley was holding back while hitting the sandbag, making it impossible for him to discern.

He warmed up as well, though his real warmup was his Tantric, a targeted massage enough to hasten his warmup, while it would normally require twenty minutes minimum.

“Let’s go,” Riley said after merely three minutes, which wasn’t enough to warm up, but Sam shrugged. Riley clearly had enough training to know it was ill-advised, meaning either he warmed up before he arrived, or ignored the risk.

He wasn’t Riley’s nanny.

“Sure,” he said, and climbed to the ring after setting up the timer. “The first ding marks the start, and the second ding signals the end of the round,” he said. “Now, any special style preferences?”

“Nope, whatever you feel your best,” Riley responded. A little too arrogant, but Sam decided hurting his wallet while teaching him a lesson was the better idea. So, he adopted a simple high guard, which was one of the most defensive boxing styles, with both gloves raised to head level, relying on the gloves for blocking.

It was a defensive style, but it was the exact opposite of the style he had used against Buffy. His modified Philly shell relied on excellent timing and parrying, minimizing the force the opponent could bear, while the high guard was the opposite, absorbing hits.

A good style against a human opponent, but against a vampire, it was probably the easiest way of dying.

The timer went off, and Riley immediately rushed forward, in full offensive. Sam caught his attacks with his gloves as much as possible, though he did took some with his shoulders as well; assessing Riley.

Dealing with Riley’s aggressive jab-hook-uppercut combo, he immediately made a few judgments, the first being Riley’s skill level. He was good. Really good.

As in, if he had met him in the ring before he met Buffy, he probably would have been smashed good.

However, Expert Boxing was no joke, allowing him to take his punches with relative ease. Riley continued with simpler combos, and soon, he started to notice other disparities, especially when he started to bob and weave a bit.

He was not a trained boxer. A few times, he had noticed Riley correcting himself, keeping himself from delivering elbow or knee strikes.

Curious, he started moving, adding some simpler jabs to the mix. Riley matched his endurance with surprising ease. Another interesting detail was his reaction to punches. He let most of the jabs slip in exchange for delivering his own punches, but Riley shrugged the damage off quite well as well.

Suspicious, Sam decided. He just didn’t know how suspicious. But one thing was very clear, he wasn’t dealing with an angry rich kid who had trained for fun, or even for competitive purposes.

No one trained for fun had Riley’s pain resistance.

Then, the timer went off, and Riley stopped, not trying to take a cheap shot when he deliberately lowered his guard.

“Well, how was it?” Sam said, taking a few deep breaths to recover. His already good endurance had been enhanced further with constant Tantric tricks allowing him to push further, so he wasn’t tired.

Riley was even fresher than him, despite being the more active party. That was even more suspicious. Though, not immediately calling Buffy suspicious, just took a mental note to mention it later.

He didn’t say anything else, so Sam didn’t either. Instead, they repeated the same pattern for five more rounds, each with a break of a minute, where he stayed defensive, responding only in jabs while Riley searched for an opening strike, but failed.

“You’re good,” Riley finally spoke at the end of the sixth round, unable to hide his surprise.

He could have responded with a compliment. Instead, he smirked. “I’m the one who opened a boxing gym. Of course I’m good.”

He expected Riley to follow up with more technical questions, trying to dig through his evasive answer to understand him further. “Are you holding back?” Riley said instead.

“Naturally,” Sam responded. He didn’t expect Riley to miss it. His hyper-defensive style was hardly a secret. “You’re the customer. I can’t have you hospitalized because I have overestimated you,” he said. It sounded better than trying to drain his wallet; as he already owed six hundred dollars. “Since you let me pick the style, I decided a defensive style would be better.”

It wasn’t as much money as he made from an underground fight even back in London, but considering the context, it was actually even more outrageous.

“Fine. I want you to fight without holding back,” Riley responded.

“Are you sure?” Sam responded, trying to sound concerned, mostly to maintain appearances.

“Of course,” Riley said.

“Fine, your funeral,” he responded, and took a more classical peek-a-boo style, which looked similar to high guard, but included even more movement, and focused on power punches looking for a knockout.

He didn’t use his modified Philly Shell style, as he wanted to knock the guy out, not kill him.

They started when the timer went off, signaling another round.

What followed was fun for him. He suspected that, in a street fight, Riley would be a very dangerous opponent, but boxing had its limitations, both in terms of limited defensive options and in terms of space. A few devastating body punches had been enough to lock Riley against the post before he started wailing on him, relying mostly on hooks and crosses, and whenever Riley tried to punch to create some distance, he parried and punished with a mean counter.

It was a perfect point for a clinch, but Riley clearly wasn’t used to it, just taking the punches.

Even then, he was getting a bit worried when Riley finally went down… He held much better than any boxer he had fought against.

[Honor Duel, +3 Boxing]

[Tertiary Special Character Defeated, Riley Finn]

[+10 Squad Tactics]

[Squad Tactics Uninitiated -> Basic]

“Well, that was a surprise,” he muttered as he looked at Riley, already trying to stand up rather than out cold like he expected. Apparently, he had underrated Riley’s toughness. Interesting, especially combined with the notification. Tertiary designation wasn’t as interesting as the skill reward.

Squad tactics, which, unlike what he had gotten from Holly, was focused entirely on ordinary military tactics. Well, ordinary in a way that expected the squad to operate independently.

Combined with his intense training and absurd endurance, it did point out to special forces.

“Surprise?” Riley said, grumbling.

“Well, you’re still awake, it’s impressive,” he responded, deciding to test him. “You’re better than I expected from a college student. Military?” Riley tensed despite his dazed state. “I mean, ex-military. I heard a lot of people saying that people join the army just to afford college. It’s a travesty.”

“It’s the American way, I’m afraid,” Riley responded, relaxed. “But yeah, I was ex-military. Army, actually. How did you guess?”

Sam shrugged. “As opposed to?”

“Most would guess the Marines. They have a reputation.”

This time, Sam didn’t need to fake anything. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about the distinctions. For me, military and army are the same thing.” He noticed Riley’s grimace. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say you’re just as annoyed as I am whenever people call football soccer.”

“Probably,” Riley admitted, chuckling. “It’s a pride thing.”

“Well, feel free to explain in detail the next time you come for a spar,” Sam offered.

Riley chuckled. “I don’t think I can afford it.”

“Nonsense, I’m not going to charge a hundred dollars a round. That’s robbery,” Sam said. “That was my annoying customer price. I thought you were a spoiled kid. You’re a real fighter. Twenty dollars every round is much fairer. Or a hundred flat if you want to fight until knockout or something. We can come to an arrangement.”

It certainly was, especially as he would be getting a very valuable skill. What he got was well worth the discount for a longer fight. It wasn’t as if he was hurting for money.

“Really?” he said, surprised by the apparent generosity.

“Sure. Feel free to drop by,” he offered. Admittedly, he didn’t know if he would. It would depend on why they were stationed in Sunnydale in secret. If their target was vampires or demons, which seemed to be a reasonable target, he probably wouldn’t.

But Buffy’s identity as the Slayer complicated things.

He decided to talk with Buffy once she returned.

&&&

However, while waiting for Buffy to join him after her classes, he didn’t stay idle. First, he drove to Magic Box to buy more stuff for his Wiccan magic, this time focusing on protective wards, and a few more books that looked interesting.

That would have been all, but on the way back, he stopped by the costume shop, and purchased several fun outfits. After all, Buffy already owed him two, and he fully intended to make more bets along the same lines.

He was getting extra points for the contests while also making Buffy wear some very fun, very entertaining outfits in the process … and it wasn’t like the bet itself had been a boring chore.

What was there not to enjoy?

Once back, he started focusing on magic. Namely, burying several clear quartz crystals around the house, which would be the focus of the rudimentary Wiccan ward he wanted to build around the house.

It wasn’t exactly something groundbreaking, just something that would alert him if someone with hostile intent entered the perimeter or if someone tried to curse him while he was inside.

He had to start dipping his toes into magic sometime, and it was the simplest way to do so. More importantly, he was aware that the skills weren’t exactly the perfect solution. The only reason he had been able to benefit from boxing and other combat skills that much was that he had been trying to be a professional athlete … and even then, he had required weeks to adapt to the strain of boxing properly.

He expected the magic to have a very similar process.

It proved to be a good call, because when the ritual had finished, he felt like he had run a brisk 5k without warming up, and that was with the ward taking most of the energy it required from the ambient magic.

He needed to go a long way before he could cast something truly effective.

While Wiccan Magic skill he had didn’t explain how to improve his power, the books he got from Magic Box explained several methods, some requiring him to turn inward and connect with his spiritual side … the others suggesting pacts with demons, spirits, or just sacrificing other people to steal their magic.

Annoyingly, most of the books he got from Magic Box dismissed the self-introspection method as weak nonsense. To their credit, they also warned against sacrificing people or making pacts with demons, instead focusing on what they claimed to be benevolent spirits that wanted to protect the world against the demons.

They even had a weird name. The Powers that Be.

Naturally, he wasn’t going to believe the claims made in a random book he purchased. Especially when said book came from a shop built in a city directly above something called the Hellmouth.

Luckily, he had the perfect way to start with his self-introspection method … a little gift from Willow’s ex before he had decided to run away with his werewolf mistress.

Meditation.

But, before he could start, he was distracted by a knock. He was ready to kick them away, but seeing it was Buffy and Willow, carrying two boxes of pizza, he had a change of mind.

Naturally.