This is a rather interesting project of mine, that I've been wanting to do for a while. I'm writing this story to put in perspective the harsh reality of combat sports. It's a cruel, cruel mistress. You start off young, in your prime, rising through the ranks. Next thing you know, you're a champion. You have all the records: most wins, most knockouts, most submissions, most title defenses, etc.
...But one day, you lose it all. Your body stops working the way you want it to. Your chin is so weathered, you can't take a punch anymore. The next thing you know you're in your 40s, still lingering in a sport packed full of powerful, young, hungry studs. But here you still are, and you have nothing left to accomplish. Nothing left to prove. The only purpose you serve is to be fed to the young guys, to be a victim on their highlight reel. I've had to watch some of my favorite MMA fighters go on horrible lose streaks: 3,4, even 5 or 6 losses in a row. I used to watch them as a kid and think they were unstoppable.
But what happens when you still won't quit? You will your tired, beat-up body into the ring once more, still hoping for a return to the glory days?
This is Paul Phoenix's story. This is the story of how he refused to quit, and how the choices he made impacted his life greatly. Enjoy.
Just one more.
As the pillar-haired blonde sat on the broken wooden stool of the dumpy locker room, he looked down into his own fists, clenching them so hard the veins protruded underneath his signature dark gloves.
Lefty and Righty... the artist's tools. The symbols, that defined who he was as a person. Without them, who was Paul Phoenix? Without the ability to smash solid rock or fell a grizzly bear with one body punch... was he even alive? Was he even a real person? Did he ever exist to begin with?
As Paul stared long and deep into the two companions that had seen him through many conflicts, the locker room door opened abruptly with a slam against the tiled wall.
"You're up, Phoenix." a gruff, New Zealand accent declared.
A stern expression formed on his stubbled face, exposing every subtle little crease and crevasse of his aged skin.
He got to his feet, turning and looking into the mirror above the sink one last time, to get a good, long glimpse at himself...
...The years had not been kind to him. Decades of fighting in the King of Iron Fist Tournament, fighting every manner of man, machine, supernatural gods and deities, even intelligent animals bred for combat. Paul Phoenix had never missed a single tournament; he always participated, and he always made it far. There was no ignorance to be had about the legend of his fighting prowess.
But things were different now. 49 years... that's a long time to be alive. Seems even longer when you make a career out of getting beaten half to death. After losing terribly in the last one, The King of Iron Fist Tournament was now a distant memory. Paul was reduced to the bush leagues now, fighting amateurs for peanuts. It wasn't an ideal career... but it was the only thing he's good at. Despite everything, Paul never lost his taste for combat. Fighting was still his passion, his one true love.
And most importantly... he never lost his fiery ambition to be the toughest in the universe.
"Showtime." he says to the mirror, the only thing missing his cheesy grin of old. The time for grinning was over: he hadn't earned the right to smile anymore. He only smiled when he was on top of the world. Right now... he couldn't have been further away.
"LADIIIIIIIIIIES AAAAAND GENTLEMEN!" an enthusiastic, amusing voice declared. "WE ARE COMING AT YOU LIIIIIIIVE! FROM UNDERGROUND KINGS 42: PHOENIX VS STEINER!"
As Paul came out of the locker room, donning his signature red gi that had been a part of him since he first fought professionally, a myriad of cheers erupted around him. He looked around, at all the excited faces eagerly awaiting his pain. These people weren't cheering for his success: they were just happy to see someone of name value fighting. If he lost everything else in the world... at least he'd always be Paul Phoenix, the once-legend.
Paul made it to the ring, and he got a good glimpse of the guy standing in front of him. He was a young guy. Good shape. Looks like he could handle a football. Blonde hair, a little bit of chin fuzz. Gray jeans, boots, a black leather jacket. If nothing else, Paul liked this kid's style.
...But there was one thing that stood out. Paul could see it, in his intensely focused eyes. The look... the look of hunger. This kid wanted to win, and he wanted it BAD. His face exuded such a bloodlust: a bloodlust that Paul knew all too well. He himself had experienced this same thirst for victory, many years ago. He remembered the time he fought Kazuya Mishima: Paul had those same eyes. Seeing it in this kid's face made him feel nostalgic.
"AND NOW! IT'S TIME! FOR THE MAAAAAAIN EVENT OF THE EVENING!" the boisterous announcer exclaimed. He turns and points his finger at Paul.
"FIGHTING OUT OF THE RED CORNER! This man is a true combat legend, with an extensive career that dates back to the very first King of Iron Fist Tournament! A Judo Fighter with his own personal touch, this man is a fighting veteran of over 20 years. INTRODUCING... PAUL... PHOEEEEEENIIIIIIXXXXXXXXXXX!"
Paul threw his fist up, eyes closed, drinking in the explosion of yells and cheers that rattled his ears. Yes... this was his life. This is what he lived for. The years can go by and by... but the sweet sound of cheering voices can never lose its luster.
"AND NOW! FIGHTING OUT OF THE BLUE CORNER! This aggressive young athlete has amateur wrestling and street fighting experience! Hailing from Green Hill... INTRODUCING... ALEEEEEEEEEEEX... STEEEEEEEINEEEEEERRRRRR!"
Like a predator sizing up his next mark, Alex Steiner never once took his eyes off of Paul. This kid was for real; he was going to bring it, and bring it hard.
DING! DING!
Paul sprinted forward, pressing the initiative. He wasn't going to give him a second to breathe. Drawing his fist back, he prepared to unleash his mighty fist... a fist that was once feared by all. A fist that could penetrate even the sturdiest of foundations.
"UUUUUUUUWWAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!"
With his hearty battle cry, Paul unleashed his fist into the stomach of Alex; he could have sworn he felt the ground rumble from his sheer power.
"OUUF!" a huge gust exhaled from Alex's lungs as he hunched over, visibly damaged by the punch.
Alex's feet skidded backwards several yards... but he didn't go down.
"What?!" Paul muttered under his breath
Paul stared in disbelief as Alex pressed forward, a threatening growl in his throat. That's impossible... Paul put every last ounce of his strength into that blow. It was his most powerful attack! If this kid can take that and still stand...!
Alex unleashed a spinning clothesline, which Paul was easily able to duck under. The kid stumbled after throwing it; his striking was incredibly sloppy. Paul countered with a low kick to his knee, bending his leg at the joint. The blonde kid buckled from the attack, dropping to one knee. He was hurt! Now's Paul's chance!
...But the amateur wrestler had other plans. As Paul tried to close in on him, Alex turned back around and dived for Paul's legs. He pushed forward and secured them in his arms, bringing Paul's legs close together. Paul tried to spread them, in vain; this kid's strength was immense!
"Shit...!" Paul hissed as he felt his body leave the ground. Alex lifted him high; so high, his knees were above Alex's head.
SLAM!
The very earth shook from the force of Alex putting Paul on his back. Paul immediately felt the strength from his muscles leave him all at once. His body was a puppet; a lifeless plate of gelatin, incapable of preventing Alex from crawling on top of him and smothering him.
Alex postured up and began raining fists on Paul's face. Paul raised his arms up in vain, as each blow from Alex broke through and rattled him. Every blunt impact sent his brain awry, his vision blurry, before the colors all returned a second later, only to go fuzzy again. He was in a bad spot; he had to break out... somehow...
Paul kept calm and took deep breaths. He started by grabbing Alex's arms and pulling him down onto his chest, quickly hugging his neck and preventing his body from lifting back up. Now that Alex was stopped, he began working on getting his legs back. Little by little he slid them upwards, slipping past the wriggling Alex's body... one knee... two knees... until he had full use of his legs again. Perfect!
Now distancing Alex with his feet, Paul utilized his Judo base and threw his legs around the kid's dominant arm. Using his seized limb for leverage, Paul was able to throw the kid off of him and reverse position into a classic armbar. Legs draped over his shoulder, arms pulling back furiously against Alex's trapped appendage. Paul strained, grunting audibly as he pulled with all his might in an attempt to complete it. But second by second passed, and he could feel his strength draining... the lactic acid filled his muscles, making exertion harder and harder... and STILL the kid wouldn't tap.
Eventually, Paul could feel his grip slipping away. Alex was getting back to his feet, pretty much carrying Paul's weight effortlessly. He got to one knee, followed by another knee, then pushed upwards to his feet. Paul continued to crank on his arm, hoping and praying he'd tap... but that was far from the case.
Using his trapped arm, Alex lifted Paul high and slammed him against the ground, making the older man finally lose his grip. The strapping young lad took this opportunity to rest his arm, while Paul lay on the ground and writhed in agony. His muscles were tired, his body aching, his head spinning. Everyone in the club thought he was done.
...But Paul proved them wrong. Grunting, wheezing, he pushed himself back upright. He got back to his feet and shook his head, clearing the cobwebs. It would take more than this to put him out! After the opponents Paul has faced in this lifetime, Alex Steiner was child's play!
"I'M NUMBER ONE!" Paul growled, pointing his finger menacingly at Alex, as if to call him out. Immediately, the club shook with the thunderous cheers of spectators. And for a split second... Paul felt 20 years younger.
Alex growled, getting back into stance. "I'm gonna take you down, old man! LET'S GO!"
Both of them charged at full speed, neither backing down. There wasn't a single person sitting down.
"HYAAH!" Paul kiai'd as he raised his arm and threw down a hammer fist, colliding with the top of Alex's skull. The blonde kid stumbled backwards and dropped to one knee, but he didn't go down. Paul tried to close in on him, but Alex twisted around and threw a spinning back kick to Paul's stomach. Paul sucked in air as he hunched over... and it felt like inhaling pure fire in his lungs.
Alex drew his fist back and came forward with a brutal haymaker, throwing his entire body into it. Paul took advantage of his green striking technique, dropping to his back and easily sending Alex's body flying with a Judo foot launch. Paul sprang back to his feet and spun around, just in time to sense Alex closing in one again. He recovered from that throw faster than expected!
Alex tried to throw a left hook, but Paul closed in and pressed his body against him, shoulder to shoulder, and swept his foot out from under him. Paul bent his body forward, sticking his right foot out to balance himself, and sent Alex plummeting to the ground with a shove. As soon as Alex landed on his back, Paul tried to dive on top of him, but the much stronger kid easily pushed Paul off of him and the two of them scrambled to their feet.
Paul drew his elbow back and unleashed it like a ballista into the soft flesh of Alex's stomach. Alex recoiled, and Paul followed up with a straight right to his face. Alex took the full force of it and was sent stumbling on his back foot. Paul's striking was simply decades more experienced than his own.
Alex shook his head and cursed, putting his fists back up. Paul could feel his body warming up; that same blood-tingling feeling one gets when they get anxious. Their heart starts to beat. Their insides feel like a microwave. Victory was right around the corner for Paul Phoenix, and he was excited. This thrill... almost like the thrill he felt when he was one punch away from finishing Ogre.
Paul closed in and threw a vicious overhand right. Alex took the force of it on his temple and was brought to his knees... but Paul's lower body was wide open. The pillar-haired blonde cursed with annoyance as Alex brought his arms around his waist and sent him to the ground. Luckily for Paul, he was just on his butt, so he was able to scoot backwards and push up with his hands and feet until he was upright again. But the experienced wrestler was still locked firmly around him... and that was a dangerous position for Paul to be in.
Paul was simply too tired to repel the stronger, younger man, and he was once again lifted high above Alex's head. Alex pushed with his feet and flopped backwards like a domino, suplexing Paul hard against the ground. Alex's head was cushioned from the impact by pressing against the older man's stomach; the force of his skull impacting against Paul's ribs only served to further inflict pain on the veteran fighter.
As Paul coughed and wheezed with pain, Alex twisted around so he could once again achieve top position and smother him. He pressed against Paul's knee to pin him down and began raining fists to the side of his head.
This was it... Paul was done... NO!
Paul screamed with lung-burning fury as he rolled forward to break out of Alex's grasp. He managed to get just enough distance to spring back up to his feet, while Alex was forced to scramble up to his own feet.
Ever relentless, Paul lunged forward with a nasty punch to the stomach. As Alex took the full force and hunched over, Paul drew his elbow back and sent it UPWARDS at a 90 degree angle, uppercutting Alex in the chin with the very tip.
He... he went down! He actually went down!
Before Paul could scream with victory, Alex got back up to his feet. Paul was smart enough to know not to celebrate prematurely; he had already made that mistake once in his life. It was one time too many. But his chances were looking great; Alex was no match for Paul's striking, and Paul had just knocked him on his back with a powerful blow. His head must still be spinning... time to finish this!
Paul charged forward, intending to throw a punch and end it now. He knew not to throw a kick, as Alex could easily wrestle him down. Instead, he drew his fist back and prepared to unleash it in Alex's gut to send him to his knees!
But Alex knew what he had to do to win. He knew he was stronger, and Paul was tired. He wasn't about to suffer the humiliation of losing to someone nearly twice his age.
Alex stopped Paul in his tracks with a boot to his stomach, right on his belt line. The kick was just high enough not to be declared a groin shot. He took advantage of the jarred Paul and tackled him, putting him in the clinch. This was just where he wanted him.
Paul was sent stumbling backwards as he danced with the younger man, whose strength was enabling him to easily control Paul's movements. He had his arms firmly underneath Paul's armpits, making it impossible for Paul to get underneath Alex's arms and pry him off. Paul was trapped, unable to even control where his own feet went. Alex controlled him easily, with his superior power.
...It was at this moment that Paul began to realize how much he had truly weakened. That moment... almost like a revelation. As he stumbled all over the arena, firmly in Alex's grasp, he began to question how he could have gotten to this point. Once upon a time he...
...That was just it. "Once upon a time". The four words that sustained him. People like Paul Phoenix, their legacy could only live on based on those words. For him, there were no new stories to write, no new exploits to be sang of. There was only the past... and that's where his heart currently resided.
Alex pulled down on Paul's body, bending his back forward until his midsection was exposed. And then came the knees... one knee, and Paul sucked in venomous air. Two knees, and he could no longer breathe. Three knees, and Paul's legs buckled.
And finally... a fourth knee. The last thing Paul saw was it coming straight towards his face. And then... darkness.
"ALEX STEINER KNOCKS OUT PAUL PHOENIX! CAN YOU BELIEVE IT FOLKS!" the announcer screams into the microphone, trying desperately to match his voice with the booming echo of the crowd.
It took about a minute to return to consciousness. Paul's eyes opened, and he looked around; all he could see was the ceiling, and a young man looking over him.
"Time to retire, pops." was his only words as he turned and walked away.
Paul could see officials coming over to try and help him up... but he simply ignored them. He just laid there, allowing the doctors to check him out without even really acknowledging their presence. He WANTED to lay there, to wallow in pity, to fulfill his true purpose of laying lifelessly in the sand like the fossil he is. If he never got to his feet again, this would be a suitable fate for him.
This was his legacy now... Paul Phoenix, a relic of the past, futilely seeking purpose in the present.
Oh yeah, Urban Reign characters will be making a cameo in this fic. Because what else are the colorful, diverse characters of Namco's 2005 beat-em-up good for?
TO BE CONTINUED