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Yes! I pray it’s over, but the crowd around me roars. This was just an appetizer, it seems. Suddenly, the mood seems to shift, and I come to a grim realization—what little civility existed before now quickly descends into chaos.
The two men lock eyes, and it’s like they leave the world for their own dimension. One where they can’t hear the shouting or see the spectators cheering wildly on their feet as they start trading blows in a whirlwind flurry.
They’re beyond the whims of mortal men. They’re demons in a battle fit only for the depths of Hell.
And amid that breathtaking carnage, it quickly becomes apparent that Daze is the one throwing the most punches that land. As if feeding off the successive hits, he pummels his opponent ferociously, backing him against the opposite side of the cage, pinning him near a corner pole.
Around me, the crowd swells, and distinct shouts punctuate the deafening cheers. “Finish it! Finish it! Yeah! Beat the shit out of that fucker!” Eventually, it grows into a chant.
Finish. Finish. Finish…
It’s a demand Daze seems to feed off, punching faster. Harder. The sounds become more violent. Crunching noises mingle with the pounding impacts. He rocks back and forth with every new attack. Almost instantly, sweat slicks his body, flattening his newly shorn hair close to his scalp. He looks more animal than human.
A monster.
As I watch, his words echo in my skull.It’s gonna get really rough, and the second I look like I’m gonna pussy out—I mean it. I need you to remind me what matters.In his lingo, I don’t think he meant “pussy out” by losing this fight.
“Daze!” I slink forward, weaving through people clamoring for a better view. My height plays to my advantage for once, and I manage to inch closer to the ring. Close enough to almost taste the sweat and hear the violent grunts interspersed with every thudding blow. “Daze!” My voice sounds raw, but I barely make a dent in the raucous din.
He can’t hear me.
Blind to reason, he becomes ruthless. His opponent curls, any moment from forfeiting. Without thinking, I call out. Scream. “Hey! Daze! Daze—”
He stiffens, and his opponent lands a desperate glance off his chin, making him stagger back. Instantly, he turns, his eyes finding mine, and I suck in a breath. His eyes narrow, ruthless, and cold. I’m frozen, too stunned to speak. All I can do is force my lips into a silent reminder.Sammy.
He recoils, shaking his head as if clearing it. A glimpse of the man who comforted me the other day returns. Iseehim. Then his opponent regains his balance, and he doesn’t even attempt to block the punch aimed at his chest. Another blow, and he goes down hard on his knee.
My heart pounds viciously against my ribcage.
My ears begin ringing.
This should be enough, right? He’s down, unmoving. The fight should be over. It should be enough. It should…
The man towering over him delivers a kick to his stomach, and I’m defeated by the hungry roars that rise in response. Daze groans, his mouth contorted in agony. Rather than savor his victory, the other fighter doesn’t let up, punching him again. Again.
“Daze!” I surge forward, jostling for a closer position to the ring and I’m almost instantly shoved back. When he scans the nearby spectators, he can’t see me—but he looks. I can see the confusion on his face. The anger warring with building rage.
That should be enough. He did his job. The fight should be over.
But it isn’t. When Daze staggers to his feet, his opponent comes for him again. Instinctively, Daze rams his head into the man’s chest, knocking him off balance. Together, they collapse into a heap of flying blows, but it’s different this time. There is no push and pull before Daze takes charge with ruthless efficiency.
My God, he’s terrifying. There is something beautiful in how his body glistens beneath a layer of sweat and blood. How he fights so hard, he’s shouting with the force of every blow. He’s unstoppable—a mountain of flesh that will crush anything foolish enough to block his path.
Even if that obstacle is another human.
“Holy fuck,” someone exclaims nearby. “I think we’re gonna see a bloodbath tonight, you poor fucks.”
A bloodbath. Daze is already covered head to toe in it. I have enough sense of mind to realize that it isn’t all his. It can’t be. It’s mainly coating his fingers. His hands.
Then his face as he strikes his opponent’s head, and droplets of crimson go flying.
My heartbeat surges. I feel sick. It’s as if a part of me realizes what’s happening before it actually does.
The other fighter goes limp, but Daze doesn’t stand over him in triumph of his victory. He scrambles on top of him and keeps going. Hitting. Punching.
“Enough!” The speaker repeats himself several times, but even a crowd as riled as this one seems to race to quiet in the wake of his voice. When I follow the sound, I see why.
Silas stands near the ring, his eyes blazing. “Enough. Get him the hell out of there,” he snaps.
