The roaring of the crowed barely concealed by the thin walls between himself and their presence was the only thing that filled his mind in moment like these. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes and calming his heart rate. He had to think clearly, anticipate every move of his opponent and know exactly when to block and counter. He had to size up the opponent, no matter how formidable he was, he knew he would be able to take him down easily. His subtle air of power was what kept his opponents on the edge, on their guard. If he let it disappear, it would get harder to stop some of the monstrous attacks that kept coming his way. But he would, nonetheless. He could not, would not lose.
His life was at stake.
He stood, the barren stool he had been sitting on already worn with the amount of times it had been used in previous occasions by limitless amount of people before him. Some in the same conditions he was now in and used to. He looked into the dirty mirror that also accompanied the preparation room, his sea-green eyes staring back into him. They were cold, unforgiving, calculating. Locks of silver hair, silky and graceful, flowed down to his shoulders and perched there, making him overall a very good looking male. But none would make a pass at him. They all knew better than to make such a risk.
A loud knocking on the door made the silverette sharply turn his head towards the sound, his body tensed and ready for anything that was coming through that door. More than once it had been an assassin, a crazed fan, or just the owner of the joint coming for a pep talk (Which he ignored quite bluntly.) But nonetheless, he was ready for anything.
"W-We're ready for you, sir. It's time for the fight." A weak voice he did not recognize barely made it through the door, but the silver-haired boy heard it well enough. He walked towards the door with his usual pace, his face closed and drawn into the one they all knew and favored. He stepped out of the door, his eyes looking down into the chestnut brown of the boy who had knocked to give him the call. The boy, who looked no older than 16, was pale and shaking at the unwavering gaze piercing through his body and soul. He made no noises as he was taken out of the room he had been waiting in and through a barren hallway to the cage.
On the way there, they had to pass through the cells where they held the other combatants not there from their own free will. Battered and broken hands were pushed out past the bars to grab onto something, anything to get them out of the hole they were living in. A sharp snap of the all-too-familiar whip silenced most of them, but some had the guts to begin swearing and flicking the bird at the guard that had silenced the rest of them. The silverette had learned to tune and block out the outrageous abuse, as he realized if he made any sounds of protest, he would receive the same kind of treatment. He had already had enough for the rest of his lifetime and was not going to start helping them now. He, after all, was their god.
The roar he had been hearing earlier had grown louder and louder with every step they had taken through the cell, and he did not know if they were the captive fighters or the crowd, and he had stopped caring. They wanted to see him fight, to see him win, and he would grant them that.
The sound of the boy's shoes clacking against the wooden floor started to make the silverette become irate, the constant tapping giving him a headache. He imagined taking his shoes off and crushing them with his bare hands, then turning to the boy and-
Stop. Save it for the arena.
They reached the large changing room, old rusty lockers barely hanging onto the walls they were attached too. The color of rust was different for each one, as they had different people use them at different times. Some were still in one piece, while others were badly broken and disturbed to the point there was no door to open it or the door was smashed into the hollow space inside. He quietly walked past all of them to reach the smallest one in the corner. Opening it, he gently took out a set of gym shorts and some tape. He pulled off his shirt and placed it inside of the narrow space, showing his quiet yet defined muscles. He took off his original pants and slipped on the shorts. They came down to his knees and were light and loose, not weighing him down in any way. The dark color was like a splash of ink on a piece of paper, and that's how he liked it. He wrapped the tape around his knuckles, carefully making sure to cover all of the skin in that area.
After he was done, he pulled back and turned around to see the boy waiting by the large metal door. The door was vibrating from the roar of the crowd and an announcer's voice could be heard booming through the speakers: "Laaadies and gentlemen, it is now time for the show to BEGIN!" making the crowd double in noise and volume. He stared at the door, easing himself into the state of mind that was needed to fight for his life.
A chant began to rise up from the crowd, starting from a single female voice. It slowly multiplied and overtook the wild and rambunctious crowd until the mantra was filling the room and building. All that could be heard was the desire for the silverette of legend to show himself. And show himself he will.
A hand on his shoulder made him turn around to see a security guard staring at him. "Riku." The tone he used was one of knowing, of understanding about what was going to happen and how it was going to end for one of them. "Axel says good luck."
Riku's eyes never changed as he nodded and opened the door, the crowd deafening and screaming his title.
"Heartless! Heartless!"
Hey there guys! I had this good Idea after reading a FANTASTIC book called Blood Red Road. I thought I'd be able to sort of make an AU from the idea of cagefighting. Please make sure to read the book and leave a comment! I'd enjoy your feedback! -Saph
