If someone would have told Roman that he would witness the demise of at least four different people- one was questionable but it didn't look good as they dragged the bloody man out of the cage- later that evening, he would have laughed in their face. He knew when they arrived that the place was fishy, that something was up and it probably wasn't good, but how could he have known it was this fucked up?
Something kept both Roman and Seth glued to their seats, however. Perhaps it was the sheer unbelievably of it all? Roman had nearly convinced himself at one point that this was just some very well put together act. That people weren't really being torn to pieces for the enjoyment of a rather vocal crowd. But it was all just a little too good, nothing was fake. It could be the fact that these men didn't fight like any men he had ever seen. These men fought like animals, back to their most primal and basic instincts. Maybe it was the widespread and eager acceptance of what the arena of people were witnessing together, as a whole. The fact that no one was judging each other for rooting one grown man on as he savagely ripped into another man. If anything, Roman couldn't remember the last time he had seen such a large group of people so unified. Not even sporting events seemed to hold the atmosphere that the Molossian held that night.
But Roman was sure on one thing- he wasn't enjoying this. There was an overwhelming feeling of not being able to look away, like passing a bad car accident, some kind of deep seeded morbid curiosity. More than once he thought he might get ill but he managed to hold it together. Neither him nor his friend had uttered a word since this began but after sparing a few glances at the man next to him, it seemed like Seth was on the same page. Barely holding it together, not wanting to risk outing themselves to the masses around them. Something about that felt decidedly dangerous.
As the winner of the last match was paraded around the pit, covered in blood and snarling at anyone who dared to get too close to the steep edge overlooking the action, the lights dimmed dramatically. The arena felt electric and Roman could barely breathe.
"And now for the moment you've all been waiting for," that same voice from earlier filled the air and Roman shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "our grand finale."
That seemed to get a different sort of reaction than previous announcements. Instead of cheering it felt as if everyone was shifting to the edge of their seats, leaning forward to get the best possible glimpse of what was about to happen. Seth rested a comforting hand on Roman's arm and for a moment he thought the younger man was going to suggest they bailed while they lights were low.
"Presenting Ireland's top prizefighting mutt, Sheamus!" Roman's brow furrowed at that. Ireland? How big of a thing was this Molossian? People were coming from all around the world to fight? To die? Were they doing this against their will? It certainly seemed that way, judging by the fight being put up by the large man being led into the ring with shackled hands. It took several equally large men to herd him toward the opening of the cage.
The man was huge from what Roman could tell, thick all over, with ghostly pale skin. It was a stark contrast to the vivid orange of the carefully manicured mohawk that stood on his head. Beads were braided into the man's beard, black bands of Celtic design had been inked into the smooth skin. Almost like Roman's own tattoo that showcased his Samoan heritage, only more widely spread. Sheamus he looked like ancient, rugged royalty.
Once he had been successfully herded into the cage, his shackles were unlocked through the safety of the chain link fence. Immediately Sheamus threw his head back and made a noise that could only be described as a roar. Muscles rippled beneath the decorated skin and he stalked around the inside perimeter of the cage, no doubt ready to tear into whatever poor soul they tossed in there with him. The display itself was plenty intimidating, even from the distance Roman sat from the man.
"And now, a mutt that needs no further introduction," the lights were brought low once more until Roman could barely see an inch in front of his face, "the feral Moxley!"
A red flash sparked in the pit, like someone had lit up a flare, but it was a single bright bulb flickering to life. It began to pulse, flashing on and off, illuminating the entire pit before plunging it back into darkness again. Over and over again, like a heartbeat. Roman could catch glimpses of Sheamus in the cage, pressed close to the chain link, trying to size up his opponent.
When a figure finally emerged from the shadows of the walkway, the crowd began a soft, rhythmic chant.
"Mox, Mox, Mox," they chanted in time with the pulse of red. Was this really happening? Was this some sort of cult? Roman looked at Seth, who was hitched forward in his seat, eyes narrowed as he tried to take in the sight of this man who had such a huge build up.
But what Roman could see was a set of six men, three on each side of a figure in the center. There was a hunch in those shoulders, an almost inhuman like gait to his stride. Suddenly the pulse of light grew more rapid and then all at once the entire pit was lit up once again.
What stood in the center of the carefully controlled formation of uniformed men was a heavily shackled, muzzled man. Roman could only really make out the mess of brownish hair, longer in the front because the strands shielded his eyes, and the muzzled shielded the rest. It reminded Roman of Hannibal Lecter's mask, only this one didn't look as surgical. This one was made of metal and it didn't look very comfortable. Nothing about this creature looked comfortable.
From the standpoint of physique alone, Moxley looked like no match for Sheamus. Moxley was smaller all over, down to his tiny waist that was bound in a belt of chains. Craning his neck to get a better look, as was basically every other body in the building, Roman couldn't figure out what was so special about this man.
The uniformed guards cautiously unlocked the shackles and one by one the thick chains fell from Moxley's body, shaken away from the lithe frame in a very canine like manner. Like a hound shaking water from it's coat. A thick, black leather collar was securely in place around the man's neck, the only thing adorning the body aside from the black shorts that hugged Moxley's small hips.
And the muzzle, of course. That was still in place even as they forced Moxley to move forward toward the entrance of the cage. Now that Roman had a better view of the man's body, he still couldn't see what set this Moxley apart from the other fighters, other than the fact that he seemed significantly smaller. Definitely no match for Sheamus. There were no intricate patterns painted onto Moxley's skin, there was no pageantry involved here.
Moxley's ribs showed through his pale skin- not as pale as Sheamus but pale nonetheless- and whatever muscle that clung to the lean figure was on display simply from the lack of bulk. The look of him reminded Roman of a half starved Doberman, all sharp and tight and agile.
After being forced through the gate into the cage, the heavy steel door slamming behind him, the guards reached through the chain link to unlock the muzzle at the back of Moxley's head. Just as the lock had turned over, Sheamus launched himself across the pit and slammed into Moxley's body.
The crowd erupted once more and Roman realized he had been drowning them out completely until that point, having been absolutely distracted by this muzzled creature.
"That's not fair!" Seth spoke up next to him for the first time in hours and Roman had to agree. Sheamus was pummeling away at Moxley, who was still muzzled and pinned to the edge of the cage.
"My my, someone is eager!" the announcers voice echoed through the arena, "Sheamus versus Moxley begins in...5, 4, 3, 2, 1!" The gunshot rang out over the combined voices of thousands of people and the fight was officially on.
Moxley's legs wedged themselves up between his body and Sheamus's, using the bigger man for leverage, and his feet pressed into the warrior's mid section. With one fluid thrust of his legs, Sheamus was toppling back into the dirt, giving Moxley a chance to move away from the gate and into the ring.
Hands brought up to the muzzle that was unlocked but still attached, Moxley quickly pawed it away and it fell heavily to the ground at his feet. This got a rise out of the crowd and Moxley's head raised slightly, eyes shifting from behind the strands of hair to scan the faces nearest to the cage and beyond. Roman didn't realize how hard he was staring until the set of wild blue eyes locked with his own and he felt his stomach drop between his feet as heavy as that muzzle had.
This wasn't a man at all. Nothing that radiated from the creature in the ring felt human, but Roman could see with his own two eyes that Moxley was just that- a human.
Moxley snarled, flashing his teeth, nose wrinkled up. He wasn't paying much mind to Sheamus, who was back to his feet now and charging. Instead Moxley had turned on the fence, gripping it and shaking it, snapping his teeth, putting on a threat display. It didn't seem to slow the Irish mutt down at all because he had Moxely bent in a very uncomfortable angle over his knee within moments, flipping the smaller mutt over and sending him rolling into the middle of the ring.
"C'mon Mox," Roman said under his breath, not having time to be surprised by it.
"Give it to him, mutt!" A booming, heavy Irish accent drew Roman's eyes from the ring briefly. There were a couple of very well dressed older men, one of which held a cane, gesturing toward the ring with it. "Break him in half!"
Were these men trainers? Did they bring Sheamus over for the fight? Cries of surprise broke through the crowd and Roman's attention snapped back to the ring. Sheamus had picked Moxley up and slammed him back down into the dirt on his back. The smaller of the two seemed to be a bit out of it, dizzy, clawing widly and blindly at the air. Sheamus was laughing, confident, deadly eyes looking up at the men Roman had been watching.
"Finish him off!" the man screamed back at Sheamus. Yeah, they were definitely in charge of the Irish fighter.
Sheamus threw his head back and roared, beating his mighty fists over his chest, and then he went down to grab at Moxley's throat for a killing blow. But Moxley was quick, calculating, legs raising to hook around Sheamus's neck tightly. They locked into place, the Irishman's head trapped between Moxley's thighs and he used his entire body to fling Sheamus over. The bigger man went head first into the ground but the momentum brought Moxley along for the ride. Sheamus tried to roll to his feet and Moxley was on him, arms squeezing around his throat from behind. He was snarling again, growling, eyes dark and predatory as Sheamus pried at the arms around his neck.
"Kill him you fool!" the heavily accented voice was yelling frantically from Roman's left but he couldn't look away from the cage.
Sheamus used all of his strength to ram Moxley into the cage, having to run backward to achieve it but the smaller creature's legs wrapped and locked into place around Sheamus's waist. It was so loud in the building now but Roman could still hear his own heartbeat in his ears, pounding away.
The end was growing near, Roman could feel it, the crowd could sense it. People were rising to their feet, holding their children up so they could get a better look at the action in the cage. The Samoan joined them.
Sheamus didn't seem to be fading much, growing more aggressive, ramming Moxley into the steel again and again. Then Moxley's arms shifted, moving from Sheamus's neck to his head and Roman was positive that the Irish man was about to get his neck snapped. It was the finish in many of the fights leading up to this one, something quick and brutal to but an end to the carnage.
Then Moxley sunk his teeth into the side of Sheamus's throat and as easily as ripping a piece of paper might be, he tore the man's carotid artery in half with one jerk of his head. The crowd fell silent as blood burst forward, bathing the pale skin crimson. Sheamus's eyes were wide, panicked, hands clasped at his throat but it was too late. Moxley had sealed his doom.
All at once the roar of the crowd brought Roman to his senses and he blinked dumbly at what he had just witnessed. Sheamus stumbled away from Moxley, who dropped to his feet and began to pace the length of the cage. Blood stained his teeth as he flashed them, a predator stalking his prey, waiting for it to bleed out and die so a feast may begin.
Only Moxley didn't wait for Sheamus to bleed out. While the dying man fell to his knees, still desperately grasping at his wound, Moxley attacked. Vicious and raw, until Sheamus lay twitching and finally going still. The victor stayed poised on his knees over the body, panting, adrenaline masking any pain that surged through him.
Slowly his head tilted up enough for him to look at the crowd again out of the top of his eyes, glaring, jaw dropped open, blood smeared over his once clean skin. Now Roman knew why they didn't bother decorating their prize fighter; he decorated himself.
"Holy shit," Seth breathed next to him and Roman couldn't utter a single word, unable to pry his gaze away from Moxley. Their eyes met again and instead of feeling disgusted, Roman felt something else. Because he was pretty sure there was a flash of emotion in Moxley's eyes that hadn't been there before.
Sorrow? Pain?
Roman didn't get a chance to study that expression because the gate swung open and men swarmed the cage. Immediately four of them tackled Moxley to the ground, one following up behind carrying a long rod. As Moxley began to struggle, growling and snapping his teeth at the men, the rod was jammed into his ribs and a shock was delivered. A strangled yelp left Moxley's mouth and Roman felt his blood run cold.
He could do nothing but stand there helplessly as Moxley was roughly manhandled from the cage, the muzzle forced back over his jaws, and another group of men came in to recover Sheamus's body. Off to the side Roman could here the Irish men cursing up a storm but he couldn't pay them any attention. His eyes were following Moxley's body as it was dragged through the dirt and into the walkway, out of his sight.
The event had ended and the halls were flooded with people chattering over each other about how great the show had been. Roman saw several little boys running around with fake blood on their mouths, snarling and clawing like Moxley had been, chasing each other. He felt numb on the surface but on the inside it was a turbulent mess of emotions. Seth stood next to him, silent and stiff, both of them ready to put an end to this night for good and to never look back.
But Roman couldn't stop thinking about the look in those wild blue eyes.
"Mr. Reigns, Mr. Rollins," a familiar voice broke through Roman's thoughts and he turned his head to find Hunter and Stephanie standing in front of him. They both wore wide smiles, endlessly proud of themselves for the event they had planned for their ticket holders.
"Yes?" Roman spoke, trying not to seem intimidated or uneasy, "Do we know you?"
That clearly hadn't been the response Hunter and Stephanie were expecting but Hunter laughed softly and reached out to put his hand on Roman's shoulder. At his side, Seth shifted nervously and Roman tried to relax beneath the weight of the man's hand.
"My wife and I make it a point to seek out newcomers and greet them personally," Hunter explained, still all smiles while his eyes searched Roman's own, as if he were trying to figure the younger man out.
"Yes and we like to ask how you enjoyed the show," Stephanie chimed in, perfect white teeth showing as she glanced between Seth and Roman, "how did you boys like it? It was an incredible event, one of the best this year so far, I think."
"It was great, ma'am, thank you so much for having us," Seth interjected quickly, painting a smile on his face that was no doubt fake but he could charm his way through awkward situations when needed, "my Uncle was right when he said it was something we would never forget. We're so glad we took him up on that offer and came out tonight."
"It was our pleasure," Hunter seemed to approve of Seth's answer but his gaze shifted back to Roman expectantly, "and you enjoyed it as well, Mr. Reigns?"
"Yes, of course," Roman spoke evenly, managed a smile, "that finale was something else."
"Oh, you liked Moxley?" Stephanie laughed and rested a hand on Hunter's chest, "Isn't he amazing? My husband raised him from just a little pup and trained him to be this killing machine."
"I'm sorry?" Roman blinked owlishly, not sure he heard that correctly, "Raised him?"
"We like to put our own mutts on display here," Hunter grinned and wrapped his arm casually around his wife's shoulders, "Mox came to us when he was five. Just a pup, like Steph said. His family sold him off to us for tickets to start a new life elsewhere. It's a sad story, really...but now look at him. He's adored."
But Hunter didn't look even slightly remorseful over this 'sad story' and Roman felt sick. Seth stepped up again to pull the attention back to him. It was mindless chatter, praising the couple over the building and basically kissing their ass the way Roman wouldn't be able to do. Not now.
Five years old? Sold into this world? Was this all Moxley had ever known? And to what extent?
"And that's why I wanted to invite you both back for the August Molossian," Hunter's voice cut through Roman's thoughts again, "It's our one hundredth year anniversary and we're putting together the biggest and most impressive Molossian to date. You're not going to want to miss it."
"Oh, that's so kind of you, but we couldn't impose on-"
"Nonsense," Hunter cut Seth off, "it's already a full house but we have seats available near our balcony that we reserve to give out to special guests. We want to invite you back and make sure you leave fully satisfied, we want to make lifetime members out of you both."
Seth stared at Hunter, at a loss for words, and Roman surprised then both by speaking up.
"We'd love to, thank you."
Hunter's expression changed immediately, warm and pleased, and he patted Roman heavily on the back.
"That's what I like to hear!" Hunter extended his hand to shake both Roman's and then Seth's, "I'll have the tickets delivered to you soon. We'll see you next month."
"Yes sir, thank you," Roman nodded his head and Hunter caught his eyes for a moment, held the gaze, and then smirked.
"You're not going to want to miss it." Roman knew there was more to Hunter's words than that but Seth was pulling at his arm, tugging him toward the exit.
"Goddamn, let's get the fuck outta here," he whispered loud enough for Roman to hear, "what a couple of creeps."
Roman was silent as they made their way outside, their car from before waiting with the driver opening the door to the backseat for them. They climbed in and Seth sighed heavily in relief. Roman stared out the window, watching as the warehouse faded away in the distance.
One week later Seth showed up at Roman's door, holding both tickets to the August Molossian in his hand. Neither of them had spoken a word about the event after that evening had passed by.
"Do you think we should burn them?" Seth asked, seemingly creeped out by the mere presence of the silky black envelopes with their names written skillfully on the front in bold golden ink. "We can't just throw them away, I think...we should probably just shred them and burn them and-"
"No," Roman took in the look of surprise on Seth's face.
"What do you mean no?"
"We're going to go back."
