I started from my seat with a soft gasp, and I could feel the ice cold sweat travel down my face and bare chest. I looked down at my hands, and I saw that they were trembling slightly beneath the gauze and tape they were wrapped in. I willed them to stop shaking so much, and I swallowed the lump that had developed in my throat as the loudspeaker boomed all throughout the locker room. "Will the two tournament finalists please report to the arena?"

Standing up onto my legs, clad in a simple pair of black sweatpants, I made my way to the fight club's arena. As I walked through the grimy hallway of the abandoned building the local fight club called home, I could hear the scuttling of rats mixed in with the lingering stench of dark magic. Not surprising, considering that Darkside was where all the unsavory types of the magical variety go to hang out in London. Drug dealers peddling enchanted methamphetamine and other magically-enhanced drugs, monstrous bouncers standing guard outside doors, ghouls running taco carts, you name it. If it was weird, chances are that you could find it in Darkside.

I soon arrived at my entrance into the arena, which was barred by a crude portcullis made of rusty metal pipes and bars. Beyond it was the well-lit padded arena of the fight club. Above the octagonal arena, chainlink fences kept back the spectators and gamblers betting on the match, shouting for the blood of the contestants.

In the center of it all stood the announcer, basking in the attention of the crowd. He was tall and lanky, and was dressed in black and red like the ringmaster of a nightmarish circus. He twirled the end of his dark mustache as he twirled his microphone around like a baton, and bringing the mic to his lips, he began to speak in that same voices all boxing match announcers seemed to share.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to the fight of your life here at the Darkside Fight Club! Tonight is the night you've all been waiting for! The final matchup of the Unrestricted Tournament, where almost anything goes and size and weight are of no consequence! Now remember that this match is a one-round fight, like all the others, so whoever wins takes it all!"

"Now then… Entering first, weighing in at a hundred and seventy-five kilograms, is the defending champion of the Darkside Unrestricted Tournament! The Mountain that Walks! The Big Dog of Darkside! Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you — GREGOR O'CONNOR!"

The crowd roared in delights as the portcullis on the other side of the arena raised itself, and from the shadows, a bare foot the size of Lake Michigan stepped out into the light. As O'Connor strode with huge steps to the announcer, I managed to get a good look at him from in between the bars of the portcullis. He was almost seven feet tall, and seemed to be made entirely of muscle, with close-cropped dark brown hair and a beard covering the lower half of his hard face.

The announcer then turned his head towards the portcullis on my side of the arena, glancing at the crowd of spectators standing above the arena as he did so. "Entering second, weighing in at sixty-one kilograms, is tonight's challenger! The Yank that Hits Like a Tank! The Scrappy Young Scamp! Ladies and gentleman, please welcome — HUNTER FREY!"

As the portcullis opened on my end of the arena, I stepped forward into the arena with my bare feet to meet with my opponent and the announcer. Nodding in acknowledgement of the giant O'Connor, I then turned towards the announcer, who had brought his microphone towards my mouth. "Now, everyone here knows O'Connor, but can't say the same for you. So how old are you, lad?"

"Eighteen." I lied easily as I glanced up at the expectant faces of the overlooking crowd.

"So why are you here in the arena tonight, lad?"

"I entered the tournament on a lark." I answered honestly this time as the mic was brought around in front of my mouth again. "I needed to work off some stress and I thought I'd be eliminated within the first few rounds."

"I see, I see…" The announcer said into his microphone. He then beckoned me and O'Connor to lean in close to him as he spoke into his mic. "Now then, I want a nice, clean fight. No hitting in between the legs, no excessive use of force, and no hitting your opponent when they're down. The match ends when one of you yields or is unable to continue after a count of ten. Other than that, anything goes."

O'Connor and I both nodded our agreement, and the announcer stood up, satisfied, as we both headed to our respective corners. "Let's get ready to RUMBLE!"

The crowd cheered as the announcer got out of the way, and many were waving wads of pound notes as the announcer raised the mic to his lips again. "FIGHT!"

At the command of the announcer, O'Connor and I began circling each other like wolves, and it was he who threw the first punch. His right fist came barreling towards my face like a meaty freight train, but luckily, I was just a bit faster. I could feel the wind rush past my cheek as I moved my head out of the way and countered with a left jab to his torso. Though a week's worth of almost-nonstop strength and martial arts training had toughened me up considerably, putting considerable lean muscle on my body, it still wasn't enough to get much out of O'Connor.

I followed through with a series of jabs and straights that ended with a knee slammed into his thigh, but I might as well have been trying to break through a castle wall, for all the good I was doing. O'Connor then roared as he caught me in a bear hug, and kicking at my captor, I brought my head forward to slam it right into the middle of his forehead. He gasped in pain as he let go of me and reeled backwards, and I grimaced as I rubbed my aching forehead in pain.

We soon recovered from the first exchange of blows, and again, we circled each others like two members of the pack vying for the position of alpha male. He had strength, I had speed, and so I resolved to wear down his endurance before going in for the final blow. Bringing my fists up to guard my face, I deflected one of his left jabs to the side before moving out of the way of his followup punch. Disengaging from my opponent, I created some distance in between us as I considered my next move.

However, it was O'Connor who decided my next course of action by throwing subtlety out the window in order to football tackle me like a charging bull or a fat guy towards the very last Twinkie in the world. For a man of his size, he sure was awful fast. My mind went out on autopilot as everything seemed to slow down, the roar of the crowd and the commentary of the announcer reduced to meaningless noise as I reacted to the threat. Stepping to the side at the last possible moment, I then brought my shin to meet his as hard as I could.

Gregor O'Connor was sent toppling onto the ground as I hissed in pain, but he was quick to get up before the announcer could start counting down. He stepped forward, his shadow almost completely covering me as he brought his fists up once more.

If I wanted to win this match, I either had to finish this in one shot or take him down with bug bites. However, if I was hit even once, it was pretty much all over. Then again, it's pretty hard to hit something when it's moving much faster than you are. Even so, I had to make my next moves carefully.

The next few minutes were spent dodging and dealing blows to O'Connor. Whenever I was presented with the choice between dodging a hit from O'Connor or landing a hit on him, I always chose the former. The constant assault was beginning to wear on O'Connor, and it showed. Then the moment came.

O'Connor swung his right fist in a mean hook, but I ducked underneath the blow. As he swung his left fist in another hook, I leaned backwards, his knuckles just barely missing my face before bringing my fist forward to punch him in the face. A satisfyingly meaty smack was heard as O'Connor was sent stumbling backwards, but he recovered just in time to throw another right straight at my face.

However, his blow came a little too short of its mark, and as his arm dropped, I grabbed it and slammed my elbow hard into his bicep before bringing my knee up into his stomach. As his head jerked back from the blow, I head-butted O'Connor in the forehead. Fighting through the pain in my head, I brought my foot up to kick him hard in the stomach as he reeled backwards, in a way that would make King Leonidas from the movie 300 proud.

As O'Connor fell to the ground, clutching at his stomach in pain, the audience began chanting. "Ten…! Nine…! Eight…! Seven…! Six…! Five…! Four…! Three…! Two…! One…! ZERO!"

The crowd went into a frenzy as the announcer raised my fist into the air. As for myself, I simply waved, smiling back at the crowd as I basked in the attention for a little while, the announcer's words over the loudspeaker sounding all throughout the fight club. "Ladies and gentlemen! We have our champion!"

After flipping the hood of my hoodie on, I was just about to zip up my jacket and leave the locker room when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I started in shock, and cautiously turning around, I saw that it was the announcer, holding a bundle of pound notes held together by a rubber band. "You forgot your purse for winning the tournament."

Catching the money, I flipped through the stack, counting the fivers held together by the rubber band one by one, and I whistled softly in appreciation as the numbers grew higher and higher. "Five hundred quid, huh?"

"Yep. A hundred for each round you won." The announcer said as he held a hand out to me. "Stay safe out there, lad."

I regarded the announcer carefully for a moment before smiling cautiously at him. Putting the money into my jacket before zipping my hoodie up, I shook his hand before turning around and leaving the fight club out the backdoor into the shadowy, grimy streets of Darkside after dark.

In contrast to Darkside, the Temple Club was located in the good, paved-with-gold part of Ealdwic, London. Owned and operated by the Templars, it was the favored hangout spot for many of the blue-blooded "Old Guard" that could trace their lineage back centuries to prominent European magi or even further. It was here that my handler, Richard Sonnac, invited me to dinner to discuss how I was doing.

The Temple Club was as posh as the fight club in Darkside was grimy, and even in the tailored three-piece suit Sonnac took the liberty of paying for me, I couldn't help but feel out of place, and I had yet to step inside. Tugging at the sleeves of my dark jacket and tie, I took a deep breath to steady myself before striding as confidently as I could towards the twin mahogany doors, which the red-clad doorman opened for me as I approached.

"Ah, Mr. Mercer!" Sonnac said as he saw me approach where he was standing on the red velvet carpet of the Temple Club's vestibule. "So glad you could join me tonight. Come, and we shall get ourselves a table for supper."

I followed Sonnac to the dining room of the Temple Club, where several old men dressed in formalwear of various combinations of red, black, and white were sitting at the covered tables. Mounted on the polished wooden walls of the dining room were oil paintings that looked like they had robbed from the workshops of Raphael or Leonardo da Vinci, depicting the glories and triumphs of the Templars throughout the ages.

As I sat down with Sonnac at one of the tables, I couldn't help but feel the curiosity and the subtle disdain coming from the other patrons of the establishment, and my sense of feeling out of place only grew stronger and worse. I did my best to ignore it by focusing on what to order from the menu.

The menu was a combination of British, French, and Italian dishes — the very best of European-style cuisine. There was silence for a minute or so as Sonnac and I decided on our order, save for the murmur of conversation all around us and the sound of the fire crackling in the hearth. As I was debating on whether or not to order dessert, my train of thought as interrupted by the sound of Sonnac's voice. "So how is your training coming along?"

"It's going well, sir." I said as I thought back to the training I had been going through since my partner Priscilla Ross and I had come back from my first assignment on Solomon Island, off the coast of Maine.

With the help of Avalon's rapid regenerative powers, I had grown muscle very rapidly, since my newfound healing ability allowed me to heal the tears in my muscle, encouraging it to grow faster. I had also gone through a crash course in sharpshooting and basic demolitions training, having shown an aptitude for both precision marksmanship and explosives during my time on Solomon Island. Sonnac nodded as he set his menu down onto the white tablecloth. "And your therapy sessions with Dr. Collins?"

I suppressed a grimace at the mention of my weekly sessions with my therapist as I too set my menu down. Don't get me wrong — Dr. Andrew Collins wasn't a bad guy or anything, but that didn't stop me from feeling that our sessions were going nowhere. "They're going about as well as they can be, considering it's only been a week."

Sonnac regarded me for a moment with his dark brown eyes as a waiter dressed in a suit came to our table. "Ah, Mr. Sonnac! What can I get for you and your young companion to drink?"

"I shall have my usual burgundy, and you, Mr. Mercer?"

"Water will be just fine, please." I answered, feeling that trying to get a Coke or something would only get more noses turned up at me.

"And are you two ready to order?"

Sonnac glanced at me before answering. "Yes. I shall have the ossobuco with the parmigiana polenta and the fennel salad with port wine reduction, and Mr. Mercer will have…"

"The beef bourguignon, please." I said, hoping I got the French pronunciation right.

"Any dessert for tonight?"

Sonnac and I both shook our heads no, and the waiter nodded as he finished scribbling down our order on his small yellow notepad. As our waiter left for the kitchens, Sonnac then turned to face me again. "How are your magical studies coming along?"

"Just fine. I've been reviewing the books you've given me whenever I'm not in the Crucible." I answered, my mind drifting back to the late, sleepless nights spent studying the various magical tomes in my room. "I think I can make use of a few of the spells in them."

Sonnac nodded, and we sat together in silence as the waiter brought us our drinks, and I watched as a red, shimmering waterfall was poured out from the mouth of the bottle of Burgundy into Sonnac's crystal clear wineglass. "Your dishes should be ready soon."

Sonic and I both nodded, and as the waiter left our table again, I raised my glass of water to my lips. It was then that Sonnac asked me another question. "So I hear that you've been participating in the fights at Darkside."

Luckily, I had enough self-control to keep Sonnac from wearing my drink, and I set my glass down onto the white tablecloth before answering. One look at Sonnac told me that no amount of bullshit would get him to believe me, so I resolved to be honest. "Yeah… What about it?"

"While I do not condone your participation, of course, I do understand that you've been feeling restless after what happened on the New England coast. Your hours spent in the Crucible with Miss Ross and Brigadier Lethe only support that theory. I want to tell you that there's no shame in feeling the way you do — in feeling that if you slow down, the bad memories will catch up to you. That if you sleep, the nightmares will come and haunt you."

I remained silent, focusing steadfastly on my glass of water as Sonnac continued. "However, there are more productive ways in which to utilize those urges. If you're truly chomping at the bit to 'see some action,' as I believe they put it at the Horned God these days, I'm sure Dame Julia could use you, despite your young age."

"…Thank you, sir." I answered cautiously as I set my empty glass of water back down onto the table. We sat in silence for who knows how long, and it was just beginning to grow awkward when our waiter returned, carrying our orders on a tray. After refilling our glasses, he left just as quickly as he had came.

I took a moment to appreciate the plating of the food on the table before tucking in. In front of me on a plate of fine white china was a stew of beef braised with red Burgundy and beef broth, with pearl onions, mushrooms, and bacon cubes also on the plate.

In front of Sonnac was a Milanese dish made of braised veal shanks with vegetables, white wine, and broth. Garnished with gremolata made of chopped parsley, garlic, and grated lemon zest, the ossobuco was accompanied by a small bowl of cornmeal porridge with parmesan cheese and a salad with a dark red sauce.

Picking up my silver fork, I speared one of the cubes of beef and placed it in my mouth. It had a delicious smoky taste to it, perfectly cooked, and the various flavors blended together wonderfully with a sort of slightly sticky sweetness that I guessed was honey. I guessed the chef must've put it in to help break down the proteins in the meat with the honey's protease. "I see that you're enjoying the food."

"Yes, sir!" I answered as I stabbed another piece of meat with as much eagerness as my surroundings would allow and chewed on it with relish. Sonnac looked at me with amusement in his eyes as he sipped at his glass of wine.

"You know, I do believe that Chef Roland Beauregard and his brigade de cuisine are in need of some extra help in the club's kitchens, especially during dinner rush. Perhaps you would find more enjoyment in that instead of engaging in petty brawls in Darkside…"

I nodded as I swallowed another bite of stewed beef, and Sonnac smiled. "Then we shall speak with Chef Beauregard after supper and see if he'd be willing to take you on for a few nights. My only condition is that you stop sneaking out of the apartment at night to go to Darkside. You seem to have gotten better at sneaking around in the dark, I'll admit, but you're no Lupin."

"Thank you, sir. I'll stop going to Darkside." I said, and we clinked our glasses together to seal the deal. The rest of the evening was spent on small talk and enjoying the rest of our meal until the bill came.

EDITS

January 4th, 2016: Changed a few things here and there, as I felt the end product was a bit rushed and could've used more detail.