Ch. 3

The screams were deafening. The chanting non-stop. The roars of the Undefeated. The demands for more as a body was dragged away. Voices then fell silent, and a number was called. Then, the host screamed, "Let's get ready to Battle!"

Battle was simple. It was a small, white arena with two men. Each man had a large, metallic bracelet on each of their wrists. When they struck their opponent, an electrical charge would zap them, and the more that they were zapped, the more points the other would gain. There were no other rules, but if one of the opponents fought dirty, then the other was free to do whatever they wished. And a lot of times, two men would enter the arena, and only one would come out.

The first opponent was known as Anvil. He was a small guy, but he punched hard. And he was swinging away, but the other opponent, a young, Asian man kept dodging his every blow, landing his own, which enraged Anvil. He slammed his two metallic bracelets together, creating a small shockwave that sent the Asian man flying down onto the mat. Then, Anvil jumped on him, slamming his fists into the man's face, but the other man quickly swung around him, landing a sharp kick to Anvil's back. And a loud crack was heard, and Anvil fell to his knees. And the Asian man wasn't finished with him. He grabbed him by the neck, shocking him in the process, and flipping him over his shoulder and onto the mat. Then, he grabbed him again by the neck, and he paused to look over at an older, bald Asian man wearing a silver and blue Kimono that folded across his chest. And the Asian man nodded, and the Asian fighter spun around Anvil, snapping his neck.

I had seen my father talking with the older, bald Asian man, whispering into his ear. I worried of what he was saying. They both glanced at me several times, and then I turned to watch Anvil get dragged away. A moment passed, and my number was called.

Didn't this guy get tired of fighting? He couldn't have been more than twenty-years-old, and he took his fighting stance with a short bow. I looked over at the older, bald Asian man and then at my father as two men strapped metallic bracelets onto my wrists, and then my face and the Asian man's face flashed overhead. And of course under my face was the name, Princess, which angered me, so after the announcer screamed his motto, I released my fury, landing several punches, but the Asian fighter just seemed amused. And then he responded with a swift kicks to the ribs and then to the face, and then he slammed his fist into my chest, knocking me down. I didn't expect those shocks to hurt, but they hurt. And then he flipped over me, readying a kick to the back, but I spun around and surprised him by grabbing his leg and landing a sharp blow to his chest. He seemed impressed, but then he jumped to his feet, flipping through the air. And his foot connected to my face.

"Stay down," he whispered into my ear, but I didn't listen. I got back up and moved into a fighting stance, and he took his fighting stance. And then he released an onslaught of punches and kicks. Most I was able to block, but it was like fighting a hurricane. And suddenly his fist connected to the back of my head, shocking me in the process, and I fell forward onto the mat. And then it was over, and I was dragged away.

My father didn't talk to me the rest of the night. He just made his rounds. I sat at the bar, nursing my wounds. It was only then that I realized that I wasn't alone. The Asian fighter stood beside me and lifted one finger in the air, and the bartender ran to get his drink. Then, he sat down on a bar stool and stared at me, making me uncomfortable.

"What," I finally snapped at him.

"You fight well. I'm glad you didn't fight dirty."

"Why? Would you then kill me," and I watched him down his drink.

"No. I was told not to kill you. Only to punish you." He ordered another drink. "What did you do?"

"I let his friend die," and I downed my own drink, ordering another. "He hasn't forgiven me for that, and I don't think he will."

"Was he a good man?"

"No," I replied. "There are no good men surrounding him. They're all beasts."

"Then, why are you with them?"

"I don't have a choice."

"We all have a choice," he replied.

"Do you like killing those men?"

"I consider it training," he replied.

"For what," I asked.

"I don't know. Maybe, the . one day," and he finished his drink. But he didn't order another one. "My father once said that if the devil runs from a man, never trust him, and never turn your back on him. If you can leave him, I would," and then he gestured over to my father talking with another fighter, who had also won several rounds. "Good luck," and the Asian fighter stepped away.

"I didn't catch your name," I said.

"I didn't give it." He took another step away and then paused, turning toward me. "Fancy, and I know that your name is not Princess. The next person that calls you that should be beaten senseless," and I raised my glass to him. And he smiled and walked away.

I turned toward my father, watching him order more drinks for the fighter, and my skin crawled. He was planning something. He was always planning something, and when he did, someone died. Would that someone be me?