No more Heroes: Similarity and causality
Rank 16: Keith Oreton
This time, it was the ringing of his phone that roused him from his dreams. Its sharp tone cutting him out of sleep like a knife...like an assassins knife. He tried not to think like that and answered.
"Hello?"
"Good morning Jordan." came the chilly voice of Melissa. Jordan shuddered.
"What?"
"Your next match is set for tonight. Head to Spike Spooler's gym at 10 PM." That was new, he thought. He'd heard that place was famous for boxing matches. He'd even seen posters for some matches around the city. He smiled a little. If he was going to be fighting a boxer, this would be his easiest match yet. Maybe he'd have it easy for now.
"Alright, i'll be there." she paused momentarily. "By the way, Vespia told me about the incident from last night."
"She...did?" No surprised there, since Ves had mentioned it the night before. "And what do you plan to do about it?" There was another momentary pause.
"Nothing." Jordan's retinas widened.
"What do you mean nothing?" the rage was rising in his voice.
"You heard me Jordan. Absoloutley nothing." She stretched out the o in nothing. She was mocking him. He was losing his temper fast.
"What the fuck do you mean nothing?" he screamed into the reciever.
"Calm down Jordan." Somehow, her voice had become a few degree's colder than normal. It was enough to silence him, but not enough to cool the boiling blood in his veins. "I've searched this girl in the rankins. She is a mere few ranks above you Jordan. Therefore, why should I do something when you can have the pleasure yourself." Jordan blinked. He let out a long sigh. She'd lead him on. Perfectly at that. Getting him worked up just to make him feel stupid. Another little game he now knew Melissa loved to play. "Good luck tonight. Oh, and take the back entrance." she finished, hanging up. Jordan's good mood was obliterated in seconds.
By the time Jordan was at the gym, it was already 10PM. The half moon was rising in a pitch black, starless sky. The gym was only lit by the small lamps around the front door. There was a big blue sign above it saying "Spike Spooler's gym." Next to the sign was a mugshot of Spike Spooler himself, but Jordan didn't bother to get a good look at it now. He strode right past the front entrance and round the back of the large, brick building, casting gloomy shadows in a street lit only by flickering streetlights. The back door entrance was in a small alleyway next to the building next door. There were two large stained dumpsters obstructing the path up the alley. He shimmied his way past them, toward a large grubby door, lit only by an overhead light that flickered continuously. He noticed a poster on it, it looked new too. On it, he could see a picture of a boxer. A limber man, wearing a red helmet and red gloves decorated with the letters K and O, one on each glove respectively, in gold. He read the bold title at the top of the poster.
"See the champ crush the newcomer!" it screamed at him. He frowned. Nice to see people were so certain he'd lose. He sighed and seized the handle , twisting it and opening the door into a long narrow corridoor. He went inside, closing the door behind him with an ominous creak.
As he traversed the long corridoor, he became aware of loud noises ahead of him. Not just one loud noise...lots of them. All coming from up ahead. He continued down the corridor, one hand on the handle of Singing Death, ready for some surprise attack. He'd put nothing past the assassin he was facing, now after what he'd been through already, his mind thought back to the previous night. At the end of the corridor, he came across a set of double doors. The loud noises were coming from behind it. Without further ado, he swung the doors open.
He was almost instantly greeted by a rush of noise, blasting his ears. He recognised the sound now. It was a crowd, cheering. Cheering for him maybe? He stepped through the doors and took in the scene before him. There was a large boxing ring in front of him, red white and blue ropes circling the ring. He was facing a corner, and on each side there was a series of benches, where the fans sat and cheered. He drew closer to the ring, looking around him. The ceiling was fairly low, and the only lighting was focused on the ring. Four massive halogen lamps above them, illuminating the now pristine white square, soon to be contaminated.
As Jordan came closer, a man in a white vest and blue shirts ran up to him and quickly ushered him into the ring, clutching a water bottle in his left hand. He was bald, had a serious expression on his face and massive brown eyebrows, almost to the level of cartoony. He sat Jordan down in a tiny stool in the blue corner of the ring and started yammering into his ear.
"Now listen here, you need to go 1 2 on this guy. Straight 1 2 you hear, or he'll knock you down like a freight train, try and get some uppercuts in too, and keep those hands up! And-"
"Thanks but, I got a better way of fighting." Jordan cut him off, drawing Singing Death. The coach glared at him, but stopped when Jordan cocked an eyebrow at him, and pointed the deadly blade in his direction.
A few moments later, Jordan spotted another guy entering the ring. It was the guy he'd seen on the poser. He was wearing that red helmet again, and red shorts with a bright white hem. He had red boots on as well, and those massive K O gloves clad on his hands. He also wore a cocky smile on his face. Fox a boxer, the guy was pretty short. He wasn't particularly muscular either, maybe even thin. He looked jittery as well, like he was itchy. He clambered into the ring and sat opposite Jordan, staring him down with that cocky smile. Then, an announcer stepped into the ring, dressed in a classic black suit with a class black bowtie. He also wore sunglasses, and carried a wireless microphone.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" he announced as the crowd roared in excitement for the upcoming bloodbath. "Presenting, our challenger today! Jordaaaan Argo!" he pointed in Jordan's direction. There was scattered cheering in the crowd, over powered by a cacophony of boos and insults. He was the challenger. No wonder he was unpopular. He frowned a little from all the negative attention, before the announcer required the crowd's attention. "And now, presenting our reigning middle weight champion! The Prince of Punches! The Master of Melee combat! The K.O King himself, Keeeeeeith Oreton!" And his opponent stood up, throwing out his arms as the crowd applauded and cheered. That smug grin on his face grew even wider. Jordan growled, feeling a tad jealous of his opponents popularity. The announcer beckoned him over to the centre of the ring. He stood opposite Keith, staring into his whites.
"Now, I want a good clean fight boys. Shake hands." The announcer told them. They both obliged, shaking with their left hands, Keith slipping his glove off before he could. It was back on when they were done, and the announcer slipped out of the ring. A bell went off. The battle had begun.
Jordan thought this would be easy. It was his sword versus a guy's fists. Easy pickings, surely. He slashed at his opponent vertically. However, he hadn't counted on Keith's speed. The limber man easily dodged his attack, and socked him in the left cheek. Jordan felt like he'd been hit with a block of iron. He heard a loud click coming from his jaw. That one attack sent him reeling, as he clutched his bleeding jaw. Keith drew close and performed an uppercut, flicking Jordan's head up quickly and sending him flying onto his back. He felt nauseous as the blood left his system. Just two hits and he was already down. He could hear the announcer counting him down off to the side. Slowly, Jordan rose to his feet and fixed his gaze on Keith. He'd already paid for his presumptions. He wasn't going to let it happen again.
Keith led this time with a quick right straight. Jordan managed to block with Singing Death and tried to counter stab the nimble boxer. But the boxer dodged to the side at the last second and tried to sock Jordan in the face. This time however, Jordan ducked under the swinging punch and slashed at the man's waist. The blades tip created a long scratch across the boxer's stomach and he backed off as some tears of blood ran down his skin. The boxer drew in a sharp breath and backed off. Jordan moved in for another attack, but a swift punch to the gut sent him reeling, breath blasting out of his lungs and spittle flying from his lips. The strength of this guy was just unbelievable, especially for someone his size. He barely dodged another shot to his ribs, Jordan straightened up and prepared for more incoming fire.
Keith made a right straight to his face, Jordan ducked to the left. Then Keith punched at the left. and he dodged to the right. Jordan tried to use the moment to strike with Singing Death, but Keith ducked it, and gave a quick uppercut. A soloution of blood and spittle sprayed from Jordan's lips as the fist connected with his chin. He stumbled back, clutching his chin, blood spewing from his lips. Keith grinned and was about to slam him in the face again when the bell went. He flinched and went back to his corner, the man in the vest splashing water at his face. Jordan hobbled over to his corner and sat, crouched, head hanging and blood dripping down onto the white mat. The momentary peace was a godsend for him. His ears were ringing, his brain was thumping and he felt like hell. He grabbed the waterbottle next to him and swigged it, then splashing some on his face. He looked over to his smug opponent. He had no idea how this scrawny man could punch like this. There had to be some trick...
The bell went again. They moved back into the ring, Keith still looking strong and Jordan looking ready to take a nap. But he straightened up and redied Singing Death again. He wasn't going down here. Keith struck first, delivering a punch to Jordan's stomach, but Jordan stepped back and made a slash to his face. And Keith, incredibly, grabbed Jordan's blade mid swing. Jordan's eyes widened like saucers. Keith grinned like a maniac. With his blade in hand, Keith punched him in the stomach. And again. And again. Jordan was forced to let go of Singing Death, and Keith seized his opportunity to let loose. Jordan felt the blows rain on him. Two on his chest, one in his face and then, he reeled his fist back for one big blow.
"Knockout Knuckle!" he shouted, the crowd went wild, and his fist smacked into Jordan's face. He felt his nose crack, his head ache, and he flew back, landing flat on his back. He could barely see. Reality was fading in and out. Jordan was sure he was going to black out. Or die. Keith was showboating, flexing to the crowd, shouting out something Jordan couldn't make out. What he did hear was the main in the suit counting him down. Jordan felt sapped. His energy was gone. But Keith had yet to break his will. He slowly got back up. He could feel the blood pouring down his face from his broken nose. He gritted his teeth. He regained his conciousness. Keith was still showboating. Jordan seized his opportunity. He snatched Singing death and charged at Keith. The boxer realised what was going on, but fat too late as Jordan slashed at him. A long red scar appeared on Keiths back. The boxer cried out in pain and spun round to face Jordan. He struck out at Jordan's face, but Jordan had had enough. He spun his blade so the edge faced his opponent, and Keith punched straight into the edge. Keith screamed in pain as the blade sliced through the glove and connected with his hand. Jordan smiled. This battle was about to swing his way.
No matter what move Keith made next, Jordan was one step ahead. Every punch met with metal, every slash carved a new red line into the boxer's exposed flesh. Jordan felt energy surging through him, watching that mysterious aurora surround his blade. He knew there was only one was this battle would end now. Jordan pinned him into the corner and made one final slash towards his neck. But Keith threw a sucker punch as the blade was raised, knocking Jordan back. He came back on the offence, two punches to the chest, one to the face. He drew his fist back again, readying his "special" move.
"Knockout Knuckle!" he shouted and his fist rocketed toward Jordan. But Jordan was having none of it now. As the fist soared toward him, he ducked and swerved to the left, keeping Singing Death low, and in one swift move, he severed the man's arm clean off. Blood spurted from the wound as Keith screamed in pain. His cocky smile was long gone and an expression of anguish and pain now replaced it. He clutched his spurting wound, all evidence of confidence gone. The crowd were deathly silent. Jordan looked down. He looked at the man on his knee's, holding what was left of his arm. Jordan decided to put him out of his misery and please the crowd at the same time. He stabbed Keith in the stomach, pointing the blade towards the ceiling, and slicing all the way up, through the boxer's torso and then through his head, the two halves of his torso falling apart and a shower of blood spraying skyward.
KEITH ORETON
DEAD
Jordan rose and looked out at the crowd. The kill had driven them mad. Most of them were cheering for him. Some were shouting at the loss of their champion. But the majority was positive. And he was pleased with that. The announcer stepped in and raised his hand
"And the challenger, Jordan Argo takes the match!" There was another uproar as the cheers overpowered the boo's and the crowd were on their feet. Jordan smiled a little. The attention felt great...he felt popular...he felt...light headed. He remembered falling to the floor of the boxing ring. He felt the blood from Keith splashing over his face. But he didn't remember the moment when he fell unconcious.