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As the bell rings, signaling the start of the match, I steel myself for the fight of my life. Samuil's worried face is the last thing I see before the world narrows down to the man before me, and the battle that lay ahead.
Chapter 2
Samuil
"Move!" I bark, elbowing past a couple of men laughing about the upcoming “slaughter.”
The roar of the crowd is deafening, a mixture of bloodlust and anticipation. My heart pounds violently against my ribs, each beat matching my desperate steps as I force my way to the front of the crowd. My eyes never leave the ring, fixated on Anastasia, standing so small yet so defiant against her monstrous opponent.
The juxtaposition of her petite form against the hulking menace she's about to fight is jarring. He's a behemoth; muscles rippling under his tatted skin. Even from a distance, I can make out the snarl of a wolf inked across his chest, its eyes glinting malevolently, mirroring the man's own gaze.
Ana, what are you doing?The silent scream echoes in my mind.
It’s not her bravery I question; it’s the sheer brutality of what’s about to happen. The underground fighting pits are no place for honor. They’re all about survival, and with the way that man is sizing her up, I fear she won't last ten seconds against him.
“Stop the fight!” My voice is raw, desperately ripping from my throat as I near the edge of the ring. But it's swallowed by the ravenous cheers of the onlookers, thirsty for a brutal exhibition.
You’re almost there,I tell myself.Just a few more steps and I can pull her out, consequences be damned.
But as fate would have it, the universe had other plans. The harsh ring of the bell slices through the air, its shrill sound signifying the beginning of the end.
Everything seemed to slow down, the world morphing into a perverse dance. I watch in a mix of awe and horror as Anastasia assumes her stance, every muscle in her body coiled, ready to spring. The giant before her grins a sadistic smile, revealing a row of stained teeth. He believes the fight will be easy, that she's just another lamb for the slaughter.
But as their dance begins, I'm quickly reminded of why I've always been drawn to her. It's not just her beauty or her fiery spirit—it's the raw, untamed power she possesses, a force to be reckoned with.
She moves with expert skill, darting in and out of his reach, using her smaller stature to her advantage. Every time he lunges, she's already two steps ahead, dodging and weaving like a shadow. The crowd's jeers turn to gasps of astonishment.
I know she can't keep this up forever. He's just biding his time, waiting for that one slip, that one fatal mistake.
I grip the edge of the ring, knuckles white, praying to any god listening that she finds a way out of this alive. Because the alternative is too painful to even consider.
The seconds feel like hours, each moment a tightly coiled spring of tension. Anastasia's technique contrasts sharply with the substantial force of her opponent. While he's all about power and intimidation, she's precision and strategy. I find myself barely breathing, hanging on to each feint, each calculated move she makes.
She dodges a blow that would have surely cracked a rib, swiftly pivoting on her heel and delivering a low kick that buckles his knee. The crowd erupts, their loyalty shifting as they recognize the raw talent on display. The boos directed at her earlier begin to transform into cheers of admiration.
The giant snarls in frustration, his eyes burning with a blend of rage and surprise. He's not used to this. Most of his fights end in mere moments, but Ana is giving him a run for his money.
Every time he tries to corner her, she slips away, frustrating him further. She's using his own aggression and size against him, tiring him out, making him waste his energy on wild swings that connect with nothing but air. It's a classic tactic, one I've used countless times, but watching her execute it with such finesse is truly breathtaking.
The next few minutes are a blur of movement. The intensity ratchets up as the tide of the fight starts to turn. A swift jab here, a sharp kick there, Anastasia's strikes start to find their mark more frequently. Every blow she lands sends a shockwave of excitement through the crowd.
In a brilliant move, she sidesteps a lunge, grabbing the back of his head and pulling him down into her rising knee. The impact reverberates through the warehouse, and for a split second, everything falls silent.
He staggers back, dazed, blood trickling from his nose. Anastasia, sensing her moment, doesn't relent. She leaps into the air, delivering a spinning kick that connects squarely with his jaw. He crashes to the ground, unconscious.
For a heartbeat, the entire crowd collectively holds its breath before exploding in a chorus of cheers and shouts. Against all odds, Anastasia Zaitsev has not only survived but triumphed.
Her chest heaves as she stands tall, absorbing the adulation. Even with the bruises forming on her face and arms, there's anundeniable glow of victory about her. I feel a surge of pride, coupled with a heady rush of relief.
Without wasting another moment, I push my way into the ring, wrapping her in a protective embrace.
"You're insane," I mutter against her hair, trying to convey a hundred emotions in those two words.
She pulls back, a smirk playing on her lips. "But I won, didn't I?"
I take one more look at her, barely able to wrap my head around what I’ve just witnessed.
“Come on, let’s get out of here.”
