Chapter Three
Giorno was somewhat surprised to find a sizable crowd already gathered around the fighting cage when they came out to the main floor of the warehouse. Cheers and whistles sounded out as the fighters appeared and most of them played into it, pumping fists in the air and winking to any women spotted in the crowd.
Giorno and Abbacchio hovered at the back of the group, though Giorno could still feel eyes landing on him even as he tried to be inconspicuous. Abbacchio was muttering under his breath. Giorno could still feel the bruises from earlier. It wasn't like he could have done much with them with Gold anyway, but the fact that he was apparently not allowed to use his Stand here rubbed him the wrong way. Especially since he really just wasn't that good of a hand-to-hand fighter.
Caruso ran up the steps to the entrance of the fighting ring and held his hand up toward the crowd.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, before we get tonight's bets in, let me introduce you to our new recruits."
Giorno and Abbacchio were shoved to the front by the other fighters for the scrutiny of the crowd.
"First off we have this bruiser." Caruso pointed to Abbacchio. "He looks tough, but is he tougher than our two-time champion Centaur, who he'll be going up against tonight?" He then turned toward Giorno. "And we have this golden boy here. I know he's on the shrimpy side, but looks can be deceiving! Will you bet on him to win or to be absolutely demolished by Wolf?"
Giorno glanced over his shoulder at the mentioned fighter who gave a growl, flexing for the crowd. He was at least twice the size of Giorno, which was not filling him with confidence. Nor was the crowd's jeering.
Caruso opened his arms. "And you know the rest of the lineup for tonight, so place your bets and we'll get the night rolling!"
Shouting started as the crowd made bets with the men who ran around with the betting charts. Caruso leapt off the stairs and came over to spear Abbacchio with a finger.
"You're up first. I want you to put on a good performance."
Abbacchio folded his arms over his chest as the man he would be fighting came over.
"Any instructions, Boss?" the other fighter asked Caruso.
"Not tonight. Just put on a good show. If he wins, it will boost bets for the next fight."
Giorno listened with interest. So sometimes Caruso fixed the fights. He wasn't surprised, but he wondered how much he could make off of the bets if he told the popular pick to take a fall. There was a pretty substantial crowd who seemed to have clear favorites.
Caruso headed over to a box and tossed both the men a set of hand wraps. Giorno slid in next to Abbacchio.
"It might be a good idea to try to win," he said quietly. "It could earn some favors—"
"You don't have to tell me what to do, brat," Abbacchio snapped.
Giorno pursed his lips and stepped away.
"Get up there," Caruso told Abbacchio and the other fighter.
The two men stared at each other before heading over to the cage, slipping their shirts off and binding wraps around their hands. As soon as they were inside, Caruso locked the door.
Abbacchio turned around, lip curled, but apparently the fight was starting instantly, because the other fighter rushed him.
Abbacchio barely got his arm up to block the blow, stepping back as several more fell, but then he regained his balance and returned with a combination of punishing blows to his opponent's midsection.
The crowd was wild, though Giorno couldn't tell who they were cheering for.
Abbacchio landed several more blows, effectively putting his opponent on defense, which seemed to make him angry, because the next blow Abbacchio struck, he caught his wrist and used Abbacchio's momentum to swing him into the chain-link cage.
Abbacchio bounced off of it with a grunt, receiving a kick to the stomach before he could regain his footing. Instead of getting back up, he waited for his opponent to kick him again before grabbing his ankle and wrenching his leg to one side.
The other fighter cried out, crashing to the ground where Abbacchio was on him in a second, pressing a knee firmly into his chest as he slammed his fist into the other fighter's face over and over until the man went limp, looking like he'd passed out.
Abbacchio staggered to his feet, wiping blood from his lip as the crowd simultaneously cheered and booed depending on who they had bet on.
Caruso opened the cage, letting Abbacchio out and a couple of the other fighters went in to drag the unconscious man out.
"We have a new winner!" Caruso said. "I see there's a few lucky bets that were made. Looks like your chance paid off."
Abbacchio ignored the crowd as he unwrapped his hands, flexing his fingers with a cringe. He snorted at Giorno as he passed him again. "Happy now?"
Giorno didn't reply. He was watching the next fighters get ready and take the stage. One of the men who was taking the bets came over to Caruso, showing him the numbers. When the fighters were ready, Caruso whispered in one of their ears before they got up into the ring and Giorno watched with interest as halfway through the fight, Caruso made a small motion with his hand and one of the fighters started to receive blows, before ultimately going down to the fury of the crowd. Apparently, he had been a favorite.
That must be how he did it, Giorno decided. If the majority of people bet on one fighter, then Caruso would tell him to take a fall. It probably didn't even look like there was foul play going on to the audience. The fighters had seemed pretty good at hiding the staging. Giorno wondered what Caruso would do if they didn't, or, if they refused.
He was so deep in thought he startled when someone's hand landed on his shoulder.
"We're up next, kid," said the fighter called Wolf, an eager gleam in his eye that Giorno didn't like. "Better get ready."
He dropped some wraps into Giorno's hands and he caught them, starting to bind them on. He wasn't entirely sure how to do it and they ended up lumpy and either too loose or too tight in places. He glanced up briefly, seeing Abbacchio watching him, but refused to trouble the man further by asking for help. He was sure it would be fine.
"Ladies and gents!" Caruso called to the crowd. "Instead of our usual bet, let's make it interesting. We all know Wolf is going to demolish the kid—lets bet on how long it takes instead!"
Giorno clenched his fists, knowing that if he could use Gold, he would be able to take this man down within thirty seconds—use these wraps to make vines strong enough to tie him to the chain-link, while Gold delivered punishing blows.
Wolf chuckled, smirking at Giorno. "How long do you think you'll last? I'll be generous and bet thirty seconds."
Giorno narrowed his eyes, not replying. He turned toward the cage entrance when he felt the man grab his braid, tugging him to a stop.
"Hey, shirt off, kid. We want to show the crowd those bruises."
Giorno froze, but couldn't see a way out of it this time. If he made a fuss, it would just garner more attention, which he definitely didn't want. Abbacchio had been right earlier anyway, he couldn't afford to be 'shy' here, even though that wasn't exactly his problem.
He swiftly tugged the tank top off before he could hesitate again. His scars felt tight, itching as if everyone was staring at them. His cheeks burned.
No one actually commented though and Caruso ushered them into the ring.
The crowd jeered and Giorno barely got his hands up before Wolf brought a punishing right hook to the side of his head. Giorno raised his arms barely enough to soften the blow, and it still made light burst across his eyes as he staggered to the side.
Before he could even think to retaliate, Wolf slammed a fist into his jaw, spinning Giorno around to crash into the cage.
"Get him! Get the little whelp!" someone in the crowd shouted.
Wolf grabbed a handful of Giorno's hair as he tried to get away, and smashed his face against the chain link, directly facing the crowd who looked like they wanted to tear him apart. A gob of spit hit his shoulder and Giorno felt fury blossom in his chest, making him struggle to get free.
Wolf yanked him back, hand still clenched in his hair, making Giorno's scalp burn. Wolf brought his knee up into Giorno's stomach, then slammed his face down against the same knee as he doubled over.
Giorno collapsed on his hands and knees, blood dripping from his nose as he fought the urge to vomit from the punishment his gut had taken right after that disgusting dinner.
Wolf kicked him in the jaw and he crashed to the ground, face aching, as Wolf let out a mocking howl to the obvious enjoyment of the crowd.
Giorno pushed himself up shakily on his elbows, breathing through his mouth since his nose was full of blood.
"Stay down, kid," Wolf muttered to him. "You're done."
But Giorno refused to go out like this. He stood up, fists clenched. "I believe thirty seconds have passed," he told the other fighter. "Looks like you lost your bet."
Wolf's eyes flashed in genuine anger then, all sadistic playfulness gone.
"You little shit," he snarled and slammed his fist into Giorno's face, making him stagger to the side. Giorno got his hands up, tried to return a blow, but Wolf's arms were much longer and he simply grabbed Giorno by the throat, slammed a fist into his stomach several times until Giorno gagged, his knees giving out, then he felt a sudden weightlessness as he was simply thrown through the air.
There was a painful impact as he bounced off the chain-link and slammed into the slightly padded floor.
The crowd cheered as Wolf howled again. This time, Giorno didn't try to get up, he wasn't sure he could.
Maybe he had really misjudged how easy it would be to get through this.
Abbacchio watched with a straight face as Wolf pretty much beat Giorno into the ground. Did he enjoy seeing the kid get destroyed? No, not really. But he was pretty sure Giorno had opened his mouth again and he was stupid enough to get back up so Abbacchio also kind of felt like he deserved it.
The fact of the matter remained though: Giorno Giovanna could not fight.
It wasn't just the fact that Wolf was stronger than him, anyone could fight out of weight class with the proper training. Even Narancia would have put up a better fight—though his opinion on hand-to-hand was usually go in with the knife first, which, in its own way was probably why his success rate was so high. No, Giorno's stance was crap, and he held his hands up like he was getting ready for fisticuffs, not a full-on brawl.
So, of course, Wolf wiped the floor with him. Abbacchio would have been surprised if he hadn't.
Still, he felt a pang of worry when Giorno didn't get up after Wolf left the cage. No one made a move to go retrieve him, so with a sigh, Abbacchio stepped up and walked into the cage to pull Giorno to his feet, leaving some smears of blood behind.
"Come on, get up," Abbacchio urged.
Giorno bit back a pained sound, curling around his stomach as he fought to move his legs. Abbacchio had to mostly carry him out of the cage as the crowd jeered, hefting one of the kid's arms around his shoulders.
"You can take him back to the dorm, you're both done," Drago commented.
Abbacchio nodded and dragged Giorno down to the basement floor. He did most of the work on the way down the stairs, but finally dumped Giorno onto one of the cots, which the kid sank into gratefully.
"Sorry, I'm…I'm fine," Giorno murmured as Abbacchio went to search out the first aid kit. "You don't have to help."
Abbacchio rolled his eyes, ignoring the kid as he grabbed the bag and headed back over, dropping it beside Giorno, before heading for the bathroom, pulling his bloody wraps off.
"Hold on a second," he said as he went to wash his hands, cringing at his bruised and split knuckles, the water in the sink tinted red.
When he got back, Giorno was trying to unwrap his hands, but blood kept dripping from his nose, which he wiped on the cloth.
Abbacchio huffed a sigh. "Looks like your hidden talent is getting the shit beat out of you," he commented wryly. "You know you're supposed to fight back, right?"
Giorno glanced up briefly, before he ducked his head, shoulders tightening. "Yeah, well, that doesn't always turn out for the best."
Abbacchio suddenly felt a pit form in his stomach as he caught another glance at the scars on Giorno's back. Dammit. He sat on the cot next to him and grabbed his wrist, quickly pulling off the wraps he was struggling with. "Well, in a fight it does. If you use these instead of pissing off your opponent even more by being a smartass."
Giorno looked away, pressing the back of his other hand under his nose. "I'm not very good at this. It's pointless anyway; just a staged fight."
"So you're just going to let yourself get pounded into the ground?" Abbacchio demanded with a snort. "That's not exactly sustainable, and we have no idea how long we're going to be stuck here. If you need the motivation, treat it like a real fight because those bastards are going to hurt you just as much as if it were one. I've seen you fight for real, and you're not exactly terrible," he admitted grudgingly.
"But I have Gold Experience then," Giorno said. "And I know exactly how to utilize him."
Abbacchio huffed a sigh, figuring he probably wasn't going to get through to this stubborn-ass kid. He reached for some gauze instead, wrapping some around his knuckles first before handing a square to Giorno. "Here, stick this up your nose to stop the bleeding. Is it broken?"
"No," Giorno replied sullenly as he rolled pieces of the gauze and stuck them into his nose. Abbacchio poured some peroxide onto another square and started to clean off the rest of his face. Giorno winced, but didn't say anything. His face was probably going to be a massive bruise tomorrow.
His stomach already was and had to hurt from the way Giorno curled one arm around his middle.
"How bad is this? You break any ribs?" Abbacchio asked, motioning to his middle.
Giorno shook his head. "It's fine."
"Yeah, and I've heard that one too many times from Bruno before he starts hacking up blood. Let me look at it anyway, you are the kid who thinks it's a tactical move to cut his own arms off."
Giorno pursed his lips but unwrapped his arm from around his middle. Abbacchio forced him to straighten so he could see and cringed at the colorful bruises blossoming across the kid's skin.
"Shit, he really did a number on you," he muttered as he reached out, carefully probing his ribs and abdomen to make sure there was no internal bleeding. Giorno bit his lip and looked away, a small huff of pain escaping when Abbacchio grazed over a particularly tender spot.
"Well, I don't think anything's damaged," Abbacchio concluded. "But please tell me if something feels wrong or you end up pissing blood or something."
Giorno's shoulders hunched again but he gave a vague nod. That was probably all Abbacchio was going to get.
"Let me get you some water so you can take some pain pills," he said and went around to the kitchen, hunting for water bottles, and found some ice while he was doing so. He bagged some up and grabbed a couple towels before heading back into the dorm.
Giorno was curled on his side looking miserable, breathing through his mouth. Abbacchio handed him the water and pills and Giorno took them silently.
"Here," Abbacchio grabbed the arm wrapped around his middle and pressed one of the ice packs against Giorno's stomach. He jumped at the cold, but after a second pressed it closer with a sigh, closing his eyes. "Keep that on there for a little while. Here's one for your face too."
Giorno took the second makeshift ice pack and pressed it to the worst spot on his jaw.
"Thank you," he murmured almost as an afterthought as Abbacchio turned away, planning on getting a shower before the rest of the fighters came back.
"Whatever," he shrugged and went to find some fresh clothes.
By the time he got back from the shower, most of the other fighters had returned, tending minor injuries. Abbacchio took a bit of cruel joy in seeing his opponent for the night laid out in his cot, breath whistling through his swollen nose. Of course, the reality was that all of these men were likely captives like they were, but not all of them had the brand from Caruso's Stand either, telling Abbacchio that maybe at least some of them wanted to be there.
He supposed it could be worse. At least he was allowed to beat the crap out of people on occasion; work out some frustration from his current situation.
"Hey," Drago stopped him before he could get back to his cot. Abbacchio glanced up at the bigger man warily.
"What?" he asked.
"You won tonight, so you get a ring name now," Drago told him. "Boss said you're gonna be called Manticore."
Abbacchio snorted. "Sure, whatever." It wasn't like he cared. He really hoped they would be out of here in the next couple days.
He glanced at Giorno as he made his way over to his own cot. The kid looked like he was asleep, still curled around the ice packs. A shiver went through his body. Abbacchio bit his lip then huffed, bending to pick up the blanket at the foot of the cot, draping it over Giorno.
He then crashed on his cot, nursing his own aches from the night as he tried to rest.