The crowd around Ken erupted, two brawlers with no gloves, no padding, ready to duke it out in a brawl for the sole purpose of adrenaline was enough to uncaged the animal inside anyone. A lot of blood, sweat, and tears were engraved in the make-shift ring the two combatants stood on. There was nothing incredibly note worthy about either one except their willing to fight, their passion to succeed and win, maybe even their tenacity to break someone's skull with their bare hands, after all, that earned you some bragging rights on the streets. The ring was surrounded by a barricade of iron bars, about waist high, keeping the crowd and participants both out of the way and letting the fighters do what they do best.
Ken nodded across the ring, the designated bell keeper tapping down against the hollowed metal with a hammer and a ring shattered the air around them all. Without hesitation, one of the fighters, a tall, yet skinny chap rushed forward, laying a 'cheap shot' into the ribs of his smaller, though fuller opponent. Ken frowned upon those cheap shots, but they weren't forbidden. This was a slaughter house, not a playground. Once that bell rang, if you weren't ready, that was your own problem. The short man fell to his knee after the blow, stunned and as he attempted to rise, the tall man charged like an angry bull and brought his bare knee across the jaw of his opponent, making splinters of his teeth.
The short fighter fell made little attempt to catch his weight, even if he had the energy, it was likely a dazed confusion of what just happened. Ken nodded in respect and started to lean away from the rail as the taller man approached, leaning down and throwing one more solid punch into the back of the head of his opponent. Now that was frowned upon. Iritate at the audacity, Ken was willing to ignore it, a heat in the moment approach for a rookie. It happened, even if he wanted to tear his head off for it. But to his shock and awe, he threw another punch, then another, finally dropping a knee, all the while the crowd booing and the bell ringing rapidly.
"You gettin' up now, homie?! Huh? Wanna run ya' mouth more, motherfucker?!" The tall man's arms left his body, extended out like Jesus on the cross and shouting over the roaring booing, ready to take on anyone else. The other fighters did not jump the rail and beat him because once again, it was frowned upon, that or they were scared. It was always a frightening display when someone was willing to bend the rules, even in a crowd full of cold blood killers, which is exactly what you signed up for when you stepped in that ring.
"Ya' got a big fuckin' mouth, mate." Ken's voice spoke out strong and stern, the crowd slowly dimming to a silent murmuring. His weight shifted over the guarding barrier and outside the ring set up on the floor, waving over a few fighters to attend to the fallen fighter. "There is one rule here, mate. Ya' don't strike someone who is down. Now ya' gone and pissed off me fighters."
Ken was hardly dressed for competition, a retired has-been would sum him up nicely. He sat behind the scenes training fighters, giving them advice, grooming them to make him money. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, equally hindering him a pair of worker's boots, it was hardly an attire for competition. Not like the man before him, bare feet, bare knuckles, head shaved, a scar beneath his right eye and his left jaw. This man was younger, faster, and hungrier than him at this stage of his career. Now he was staring down the barrel of someone as dangerous as .45 pointed at their head, finger on the trigger.
"Yo, you best get outta MY ring. I won, gimme my money, an' ya'll can suck my dick! Bunch of pussies is what ya'll are. Fuckin' fight like a bunch of pussies." The young man ran his mouth, cashing a whole lot of checks that his ass was not cleared to cover. Ken decided in that moment, that his arrogance was his weakness. One of his few, if not the only weakness he had. "You want your money, fella?" he shouted. The fighter scoffed and crossed his arms. "Yeah, that's right, my fuckin' money or I am gonna kick ya' ass in front of everyone here!"
Ken wiped some excess spit on his lips, wiping it down on his jeans, nodding. "Make ya' a deal, mate. Whatever your pay is, I wil dou-- no, triple it, if you fight me. One round. If you knock me on me ass, or I cannot knock ya' on yours, triple." Looking around at the crowd, a sudden cheer started, not to see him come out of retirement for another fight, not even to see a fight, but the stakes just got a lot higher. Ken had something big to prove and not just money to lose now. "Alright, ya' got yourself a deal. Three minutes. That's all I need for a punk ass like ya'self!"
As per usual, Ken emptied his pockets, removing his cell phone and wallet, some loose change and a pendent on a necklace that he kept with him. Reaching over, he handed it to the bell keeper, who muttered something like 'just knock this fuckin' cunt on his arse already'. Shaking his hands and becoming more limber, Ken let out a soft sigh. Tension was pretty high, it was a win the ultimate bragging rights fight and both had a lot to lose. His underground fight would be forever ruined and if he won, this kid's career was over.
"Ya' ready hot shot?" Ken asked, the fighter across from not saying a word, only giving that 'fuck you' look he has seen a hundred times today alone. Looking over his shoulder, he took notice to the fighter before him, regaining his stance, deep down hoping he was only sticking around to see this arrogant kid get what was coming to him finally. Ken offered a faint wink before tossing his head back and both just in time and not soon enough, as his eyes caught up with the turning speed of his head, the fighter once again took a cheap shot, this time without the bell. His jaw rattled as his fist collided, fortunately for him it was a sloppy hook with a sloppy stance, causing the fist to more so swipe the skin instead of breaking the bone.
The bell keeper looked confused, unsure if he should ring the bell or not. To Ken, it didn't matter now. Bell or not, this was about to be a done deal. Another hook cycled through his other arm, a common mistake by a rookie and Ken swiftly ducked, in the same instant swerved his body in a snake like slither and rose up with a heavy fist, driving his knuckles up and under the chin of his opponent. The sound was almost sickening, a loud crunch and teeth clearly shattering in his mouth. The tall man stumbled back, instead of falling, causing Ken to instinctively charge forward himself and leaping into the air, using the weight of his body as momentum and felt his fist strike into the nose and eye socket, making quick work of his opponent.
Time felt as if had slow, blood pumping through his veins like battery acid. The tall man fell back and collapsed onto his back, a slow motion figure and an echoed thud. Ken's chest expanded heavily and anger, more than anything, swelled in the deepest regions of his stomach. The lack of respect for another man, for this club that he worked hard to build, for the crowd who paid good money and worst of all, arrogance in a gentleman's sport, it was a mockery against everything he lived for now.
Lifting his foot, Ken prepared to soccer punt him in the head, more than likely killing him in the process and nobody would say a thing against him. They wanted to see an example made just as much as he did and as he brought his foot back, it was if time now stopped entirely. Flood gates of emotion opened, screams of terror and shrieking in his mind and a silhouette of his future crumbling. It was in that instant he realized doing this was making him no better than this sack of shit. It made him worse. 'Live by example', a message scribed into the pendent he carried. As time settled back he slammed his foot down and turned, screaming in victory.
"Now get this cunt outta me establishment, free beers for everyone, and get the next fuckin' fight started!" Ken moved out of the ring and over to the bell keeper, retrieving his personal belongings and even had a faint tear in his eyes. It was not intentional, him coming out of a retirement but it happened. The thrill to fight was jump starting his heart repeatedly as it bounded against his breast plate, letting out a soft laughter. "Cheers, mates!" Hopping over the guard rail, sweat dripping and throwing across the floor, he made his way towards the back and held his hand up high. |
