Month 4
It was louder this time. The march towards the center of the arena was more than refreshing. It was more of the same. Inmates and enforcers alike slapped battle paint on our bodies. It was rougher than I remembered. Instead of only black ink, white, and red ink decorated our chests, torsos, backs, and faces. At this point, I'm going to be knocked out before the fight starts. Each hand that landed on me manhandled my seemingly solid balance. Despite the improvements I thought I made, there are others who are still too physically superior to me. I'm sure that represented something deep and significant, but I'm not in the mood to think about it. Only one thing is on my mind: beating the guy next to me to an unrecognizable pulp. Scar looks more composed than before. Only brief moments of regret flashed on his face before he hardened his resolve. It's an admirable trait, Ekko is lucky to have him as a second. Funny, thinking of him didn't bring me to tears or make my knees weak, instead, I want to repay the headbutt he gave me. Even though I forgave him, I still have the scar. Wearing only trousers, we continued the long walk towards the center arena. The faint light above was enough to illuminate the coins tossed on the floor. They were just as comfortable to walk on last time. My feet are going to be screaming at me after the adrenaline wears off. Scar glances at me, then at the glistening pile of coins ahead. His expression remained stern and focused. The threat of being destroyed is greater than ever. Most of his size gave way to muscle. Those veins carried whatever it needed to transform him into a force to be reckoned with, all within a month. The possibilities aren't lost on me. Either someone gave him something extra to boost his strength, or he genuinely worked that hard. Naturally, both have their pros and cons. While enhanced, you have strength you aren't accustomed to using, you can only hope that his new power will drain him quickly. But if he somehow acquired this naturally, I'm either screwed, or he's exhausted from overtraining while recovering from his injuries. It's wishful thinking, for the moment, and it's all I've got. If training from a ghost from the future and encouragement from a goddess can't help me, then I deserve the fate of a two-time loser. If not, the soothing and encouraging words of the goddess are enough, as are the disgusting jeers from the inmates.
"Take a dive, so I can take a dive on you!"
"One more time! Just one more time, and that ass is mine!"
Scar walks a bit closer to me, brushing his forearm against mine occasionally. I don't know if it's due to him being uncomfortable or out of his protective nature, but I appreciate it all the same.
"Come on, Owen, beat the bat, I want to treat him real good!" That one extended her tongue and licked the air slowly.
"Look at 'em!" a skinny one shrieked. "Look! Look! Just can't stop shaking!"
As I look over, I can see that he's right. Scar is disturbed. His stern face is always unbroken, but his arms are shaking with frantic energy. But it isn't fear, it's the buildup of unspent energy. Before he could do something stupid, I grabbed his arm. "Don't even think about it."
Scar snaps his attention to me. Matching his intense glare. I made my point. "Your fight is with me. Deal with these clowns later."
"That's right! Listen to your bottom! We'll play later!" laughs and further sneers crept around us. Side bets were placed around us, deciding on who gets who after the fight. Scar pulls his arm away in frustration. A growl escapes his throat as he snarls.
"Disgusting animals," he muttered under his breath against the raising volume of the crowd.
Keeping my eyes straight ahead, I prepared to part to my side of the ring. "They'll be butchered, as animals should."
We held a gaze as we parted. A faint show of amusement spread across his face before he broke eye contact. As I reached my corner, I'm greeted to the usual duo.
"Not these clowns again." I muttered under my breath. Hands and ugly faces flooded my vision and inspected my frame with clinical curiosity.
"Your jaw..." a mangled inmate commented. "...it healed, with an interesting scar..." He then ran a finger over the scar under my jaw on the left side. In that instant, I snapped out of my shock and whipped my head away.
"Just do your job, no extra touches." He chuckled and finished up his inspection. "He's ready to fight alright! Go make us some money! "
The warden's staff slams and rings over the noise of the crowd. Scar and I understood the signal. We stood to our feet and approached the thinly layered hoard of coins that continues to be flipped into the center. Each slam of the staff grew louder, bringing us closer, until we stood face-to-face again. We stare each other down, this time with more silent understanding than ever. The slams stopped and silenced the crowd, the coin still flipped in, the only sound that was tolerated.
"We gathered to celebrate two of the most entertaining fighters we've ever seen," the warden goes on with his speech, while we held each other's gaze.
The fear, the anticipation, the stillness, and the awareness were all amplified to an unusual level of clarity. The hairs on his face, the collective odor of the inmates, and the mixture of sweat and blood drying on metal currency.
Forget about the worry, forget about remembering why you tolerate this. A massive slam of the staff broke me out of my mental state. Once again, my focus shifts back to Scar and his snarl. "Keep spacing out like that, and you'll wear that cage again."
A smile crept onto my face. "I was listening to your heartbeat, it's annoying."
Seeing to throw us off guard, the warden initiated the match. "FIGHT!"
Scar unleashed a flurry of hooks, jabs, and uppercuts that would have normally put me on my ass. This time around, my head is all in. Every punch that lands on my guard frustrates Scar. All punches that hit nothing but air were punished, though his body and chin were exposed to land punches where muscle and bone failed to protect. A failed jab was punished by a punch to his kidneys. A failed hook was punished by an uppercut to his chin or a sidekick to his liver. A failed uppercut was punished by side steps, followed by kicks to his lead hamstring. My aim is precise, as I target the same spot repeatedly. The crowd chanted one name after another. Each overpowering strike from Scar was hailed with roars of awe. As blocking his punches in my body sent me skidding across the floor, regardless of my stance. The coins accumulated at my feet as Scar pummels my guard. The counters only seem to fuel his resolve.
Then, the blood. "YEAH, THERE YOU GO, KILL HIM!" An inmate screamed as my lead elbow chop cut open an ugly laceration across his left brow. That's when I pressed my advantage, Scar stubbornly pressed forward, with blood endlessly dripping into his eye.
"OOOOOOH! " rang everywhere as Scar landed a knee to my chin that broke through my guard. The crab guard cushioned the blow enough to not knock me out completely. Scar pressed forward, taking advantage of my head snapping back. As soon as he grabbed my head with both of his hands. I immediately swept his foot as soon as the other foot left the floor, roaring for another knee. More coins hit our backs as we hit the floor.
"NOOO! NOOO! " Half the crowd condemned me for pounding Scar's face and ribs in, as if losing is my new purpose now. Scar bucked my comparatively light weight off. I scrambled to my feet first and ran to land a knee to Scar's face. As he struggles to stand, I just know I am about to end it. The warden stepped in. "TIME!"
My ears flood with hollering and cheers as I'm pulled away. The wooden stool meets my ass as I plop down.
"Now that is how you fight! Whatever you're doing, keep doing it!"
The warden stood in the center of the arena, professing his admiration of the sport that unites us all. His speech is to hear himself talk. The Enforcer guards ate it up, as the dogs they are. The inmates, however, impressed me. None of their reactions were genuine. Some outright refuse to pretend to give a damn about the speech. This is the only time we can collectively display our disdain for the warden, not like he cares at all. He smugly adjusted his vest, and continued hearing himself speak. Looking over at Scar, from what I can gather, he has never taken his eyes off me. Those murderous peepers of his could freeze a torch. The teeth are just icing on the cake. Huh, cake, Gauss. I miss out on my birthday. I knew that people had it, but no one made a big deal about it, so I didn't.
"Time to give me money, boy!" The guy slapped shoulders and cleared the way.
I stand to my feet, and I feel the stool disappear behind me. Scar had difficulty standing, it was more laborious than usual. The warden waves us forward, and we obey. approached until he held his hand up.
"Putting on quite the show, boys," he commented with his usual dismissive disposition. We didn't reply, it wouldn't be right to. We'd take a swing at the warden and cause a riot. Will armed, earn their. Now that I think about it, that's not a bad plan. But things aren't in place yet. Enforcers are still heavily armed, and we have nothing. It would be a slaughter, and I need these Zaunites to come with me. They'll place, and so will Scar. His gaze is different now, desperate, as if it's now or never. The warden pats our shoulders. "Give us something worth clapping about." He backs away, allowing us to continue the stare-down. "FIGHT!"
Scar launches with a hook, and I ducked under it. For some reason, he missed my movement, and, for a takedown, he grabbed nothing but air and received a swift kick to the face. The crowd roars in excitement as Scar crashes to the floor, meeting the coins with his bloody face. A coin stuck to his face as I kicked his ribs. Scar clutched his ribs as I stomped on his face again. He turned his head along with the stomp, taking away some of the force. Back to the basics, Heel is nothing for kicking my opponents while they're down.
"KEEP GOING! DON'T STOP!" a voice. boomed in my ear, along with every other colorful and encouraging words.
My head is ringing, swelling with the sheer volume of their collective chants and battle cries. My next kick was caught in his sharp teeth. I didn't feel the bite, but I did feel my skin begin to tear when he began pulling his head away. My elbow fell on his cheek, weakening his bite, but not completely. My next attacks came in a panicked flurry, lacking the calculated precision I once had. Scar took advantage of my panic and grabbed my face to gouge my eyes out. He only managed to irritate my eyes before I kneed his balls. The crowd collectively roared in laughter and quivered with outrage. As Scar nursed his testes, I took this time to rub my eyes. The adrenaline made the pain nearly nonexistent. All I could feel was the pressure of dirty thumbs jabbing my eyes. Regardless, stopping because of the pain isn't a way out. Nothing but a finish can end this. With blurred vision, I press forward. Scar stumbles backwards, to the disapproval of the crowd. Once he got close enough to the crowd, they pushed him forward roughly. Using the gift momentum, I grabbed him, digging my fingers into the meat of his collarbone. Then I ducked and pulled him. over my back, then off my feet. Scar flew and landed forearm first, then his head slammed into his forearm, then slid sideways. It took more energy than I thought it would, otherwise, I would have charged forward. Oh well, I chose this, so I need to deliver. It doesn't matter how it goes, I won't leave this arena without a win. To my surprise and relief, Scar recovered to his feet. The effort in doing so was inspirational. It would have served him better to have just played dead. But that warrior spirit is going to be the one thing that I can't beat. But I'll never know unless I try. My legs carry me forward, and Scar spat on the coins with renewed awareness.
Before we got into striking range, the warden slammed his staff. "TIME!"
The arena erupted in an uproar, but that didn't stop the coins from falling. We just stood there as the coins fell around us. There was something there, in that moment of intense battle lust, Scar's stare returned to its natural integrity. The inmate's roars increased the longer we stared each other down. The intensity began to entertain and made the Enforcers nervous. The guard stationed outside the barrier had to push back an inmate that stepped too far. out of spectator bounds. Since the inmate code relies entirely on strength and fortitude, he couldn't just take that. The inmate pushed back, shifting the helmet of the Enforcer. In return, the inmate caught the butt of the rifle to the face. He hit the floor, and the Enforcer began kicking his ribs. The attention was divided between us and the two squabbling until the shot was fired. The noise died completely.
The warden sighed. "There's always one."
He whispered into the ear of his second, and that enforcer gathered two others. Their boots brushed over the coins. Metal colliding against metal and heavy boots walking echoed off the walls. We watched them take the inmate away. Trickles of blood fell from his mouth, and water and blood leaked from his chest. The Enforcer that shot him appeared, shaken, but held his head up anyhow, and followed the trail of blood. There was nothing else for us to do. We have seen inmates get murdered for less. My mind has blocked deeds that haunt me. We returned to our stools in silence. Our cornermen silently tended to our wounds. Visibly disturbed, my cut man's hands were too shaken to be useful. The warden decided to allow the silence to crush us. The only hobby that granted this degree of freedom was tainted. We are reminded of our inferiority. Enforcers around us displayed a mixture of emotions, from stoic to sympathetic, anger, and supremely confident. With a dispassionate slap on my back, my cutman stepped back. That's when the warden approached with the slams of the iron staff to the center of the arena. His finger curls, beckoning us forward to finish the fight. As we approach the center, I'm glad to see that Scar isn't suffering from this. Ekko is going to be proud of his second, in the future.
Abandoning all common sense, reason, and mostly defense, we clashed in the middle. As we fought, only the clash of knuckle bone, shin against flesh, and the grunts of pain reigned supreme. Finally, a fight where I'm not being yelled at. At least not in the manner that involves instant death threats. Instead, people prefer I either win or take a dive, all I have is a moment, however, which will be dedicated to victory. Gritting my teeth and loosening my joints, I adjust to Scar's heavy hands. He's really piling on the pressure, it's the swelling and next to no pain I have to go by. Scar's holding up well so far. Every labored punch that landed on his face seemed to roll right off him, like beads of sweat. The spectators gradually got back into the swing of things. They groaned in empathetic agony as I landed a knee to Sear's side. The collective. I grunt as Scar lands an elbow of his own against my temple. I grabbed him, trying to buy time to recover. Since Scar is stronger, he had no problem tossing me around but had a problem. Thankfully, Thad had enough afterwards. Thankfully, I landed on my feet. I pressured him, threw a series of faints, and landing a kick to his chest to recover energy.
"Kick his ass, Owen," followed by a clap.
"Hang in there, Scar, run a supportive series of cheers." Earlier, admittedly, it helped us both press forward.
It didn't hurt anymore. Slashing his face with my elbow and forearm made me feel like a monster. Scar became more defensive and countered with crisp jabs, learning from his earlier mistake. They mostly grazed me, as shifting from side to side was the only thing that kept me centered. Other than the edges of the coins biting into my feet, it felt like I was floating. The adrenaline made my entire body numb and yet filled with energy. Exhaustion slowed everything down, strangely enough. I wonder when that happened? The only sounds that I can hear now are the breaths escaping my lungs as Scar lands vicious body shots. Blood rush through my veins, like a stream during a storm, bulging my veins. Scar's sticking to boxing now, knowing that I'll catch his legs if he attacks with them. Although it would be smart to engage with only boxing in mind, I know better. Right now, my body is getting heavier by the second, fatigue setting my insides on fire. Despite all of the pain from numbness, the chaos of the raising chants from the inmates, and the noticeable shattering of my mind, I'm loving it. Currently, Scar and I are locked in a half embrace, half striking every opening we can find. I stopped headbutting him when he caught my chin with an uppercut. My arms encased his as I started ramming and stabbing his thighs and hamstrings with knees and kicks. To avoid his obvious attempts to bite me, like a desperate animal, I pushed the crown of my head against his jaw. In a sick way, it appears as if we were violently dancing across the coin-littered arena floor, spilling drips of blood along the way. The noise builds louder as I drive my knee into Scar's liver. He roars in agony as the last pillars of his endurance fade as he crumbles to the ground. The arena once again reached a fever pitch as I mounted Scar and poured every ounce of energy I have to crack his skull open as wide as he had mine. They fell one after another, elbows to butcher his face, open palm strikes that deflected his strikes of retaliation, and headbutts to finish the job. Slowly, every satisfying contact to his face drained his will to fight back. Every fatigued strike I landed made the impact sound more vicious than it felt. All Scar could do now was weakly cover his face. As he did so, I drove my elbow at his ribs until I felt something give. Scar let out a guttural cry of agony and went limp.
"NOW!" a voice bellowed from the spectator area. "DO IT NOW!"
The sight of him giving up infuriated me. However, I couldn't punish him as I wanted to, but I'll be damned if I didn't try. One laborious hammer slam to Scar's face after another, only managed to give him bruises, nowhere close to splitting his skull open. If this is the best I can do, then I'm going to paint his face with as many shades of red, black, and blue as I can. He turned his head, trying to shield his face from the relentless onslaught I have in store for him. He knows that deep down, I want my revenge for my shattered face. Raising my elbow over my head, I brought it down on his head repeatedly. As Jericho's daily routine is to chop whatever meat he gets his hands on, I chop at his head and face with my elbows. Madness possessed me as I hacked away, Scar going completely limp under my wrath. It was until I dislocated my elbow that I realized that I might have gone too far. Scar's face was completely covered in blood. So much so that I couldn't see his face at all. I had won. I didn't need the warden raising my hand to tell me that. I didn't need to be showered in coin to feel it. The regret and hollowness that followed was something that I never want to experience again. But this is Stillwater, regret and hollowness are the hidden entities that only us inmates know. After the roars of mixed disappointment and cries of victory, the Enforcers escorted me down the hall. Along the way, I avoided the smiles, the jeering, and the looks of sympathy from the faces that understood. The coins stuck to my feet until I collected enough dust and grime for them to fall off.
Through the blaring noise of the spectators, I heard it. I heard something that I never want to acknowledge. "Just a kid..."
We made our way to the showers, and I was pushed inside. It wasn't a long shower, I wanted to be away from them as much as possible. Cold water washed over me as I just stood there, still numb. Red, white, and black ink snaked down my body, through my trousers, and flowed down the drain. Peering down at the drain gave me a momentary sense of peace that I wanted to last forever. Not really though, as peace in this sadistic grey playground is torture to any sane person on the outside. Shutting the drain off, I step away and stand in front of the guards.
"I'm ready." peering up at them with my bruised and battered frame.
They returned the stare with their helmets hiding their faces.
"Had a lot of money on Scar..." The guard on the left gripped the handle of his baton tighter. "...lost it all thanks to you."
The guard on the right chuckled and nudged him. "Bet on Owen next time, and you won't be broke!"
They must be somewhat well acquainted, as the one on the left grunted in resonation. A blessing in disguise, I guess, as I'm in no shape to take on anyone. They began to escort me back to my cell, the adrenaline slowly wearing off, and the pain slowly began to build. Every step revealed a lot about what we put ourselves through. Both of my shins are screaming at me, my ribs are a mess, and my waist is covered in so much pain. I don't know if anything inside me will ever work right again. I don't even want to know what my face looks like anymore. I just hope that Powder will accept me after what this place has done to me. Finally, we arrived in my cell, or at least I think so. As the guard opens my cell, I lock eyes with someone who looks too out of place in here.
"Get in." The Enforcer guard pushed me inside by the back.
I stumbled forward and plopped on the floor. She scrambled to her knees, her curly, dirty, and greasy hair draped over her face. Only our eyes meet for the briefest of moments before I fall backwards, flat on my back.
"Have fun, you two." I look up to see the backs of the two Enforcers as they walk away down the hall.
"What?" I managed to ask as my breaths range from short bursts to rapid gasps for air.
The girl crawls on her knees beside me. "I'll keep you warm," she said with a voice that comes from years of knowing her worth behind bars. She leans into the corner at the left of me.
Licking the blood from my lips, I taste the sour iron of blood that I hope is mine. "You aren't what I think you are...right?"
She shrugged and shifted against the corner wall, the faint light from the hallway dancing across her sun-kissed skin. "I get protection and extra food."
I snickered listlessly. "That makes sense, unless you're a manipulative mage, you don't look dangerous at all...which is dangerous."
The dark around her thickened for a second before it returned to normal. She stayed quiet for a while, considering her next words. Whatever that might have been, I got her. Her eyes remained focused on me as my eyelids grew heavy. Finally, she spoke. "How did you know?"
"Your need to look dirty is a bit much. There are clean inmates here. We take showers, you know." Then I turned my head to her. "Let me guess, you pissed somebody in Piltover off. Someone too big to step on?"
She smirked and shook her head. "You think you can deduce anyone you see?"
Whoa, it doesn't take much for that 'I'm more important than you' accent to come through.
"That didn't take much." spreads my arms out and felt something give in my chest. The soft pop was loud enough for her to hear. "You should be proud of that annoying accent."
She just sat there, staring daggers at me with a blank face.
"I have a friend from Piltover who talks like that actually." Still, she showed no reaction to my act, so I pressed on. "Her accent has a different pitch of 'I'm more important than you' flow."
I was going to go on, but I was rudely interrupted by familiar faces. The two female medics and the Enforcer who injected that stuff that might have given me the trip of my life.
"Stay where you are," he said as he unlocked the cell door and slid it open.
The two medics approached me and began working on my wounds immediately. "Not like I want to move for an entire month."
The medics move as if they know exactly what's wrong with me. I guess they were watching the fight.
The thin medic who is disinfecting my bruises mutters under her breath. "A kid shouldn't be doing this..."
The fuller medic pulled my leg sleeves up and began disinfecting my shins. "Never seen anything like that before. That fight went on for too long."
Both of their comments were ignored by the enforcer, who spoke over them. "You get the month off, so enjoy it."
Hmm, sounds like a downer. "Let me guess...you bet against me, didn't you?"
He scoffs, crossing his arms. "Guilty as charged."
I smiled, feeling the swelling of my chin. "Traitor."
The Enforcer couldn't hold back his laughter. "Traitor? Me? I blame you for playing possum."
"Never underestimate a possum, they still bite." I cautioned as two of the medics chuckled.
The Enforcer leaned back and nodded, understanding my position. Soon, I was fully bandaged, and the medics gathered their kits and left us alone. Then, he walks in and pulls out a syringe. The girl in the corner locked eyes with him. He paused, and an understanding was exchanged as he retreated from the cell. "You'll heal naturally this time."
As he closed the door shut, I can't help but think of what her angle is.
"I can hear you thinking," she said in amusement.
"That's not possible, I'm too sneaky." I shot back. "But seriously, what was that? Last time he was here, he kind of forced his needle into my arm."
She chuckled. "Force...his needle?"
I paused, she might be fun to talk to after all. " He pulled his medical syringe out and injected a chemical."
"OKAY! Okay!" she playfully waved me off. "You can stop being a punctual smarty pants."
"That's what you get." I rubbed the bandage on my ribs. "For being such a butt."
She chuckles and watches as I sit up, then stops chuckling when I struggle to do that simple task.
"Wait." She then rushed to my side. "Let me help." Her hands support my weight. "Where do you want to go?"
"Out...out here." I grunted as my boy adjusted to the slight elevation.
She rolls her eyes but understands my meaning. "I mean in here, genius."
Looks around. "From one corner to the next? The bed," points to the thin bedroll. "Right over there."
Her eyes followed my finger. "You're getting a better bed."
She began berating me for not having all the accommodations that she has in her personal cell. As she caringly lays me down, she finishes with. "And at least get yourself a shirt."
Takes in a deep breath as the adrenaline begins to numb the pain. "You got some high expectations there, princess."
She lies down beside me and runs her finger over my bandages. "You can call me Princess, by the way, since you insist on it."
Flinches as her finger runs over a sensitive area under my ribs. "Mmh! Think they missed a spot." She grabs her finger as I lay a hand over the spot that's now overpowering my adrenaline. "And you can call me Duke, because I refuse to be your prince."
Princess lays a gentle hand over mine. "You're mean. Anyways, winners deserve the best. And for what you do, you need the best."
I look into her eyes. "They're going to keep putting me in fights...until I die...aren't they?"
She rubs my hand with her thumb, the long complicated answer sitting in her throat, so she gives a shorter one. "Yes."
For some reason, that made me laugh hard enough to cause a sharp pain of defiance from my left lung. Princess held me as I coughed, the force of the cough causing me further internal agony. Gradually, I calmed my coughing to simple throat clearing. "I knew it."
She gently rubs my chest. "It's your fault for winning."
"Think I should take a fall in my next fight?" I asked.
She snickered through her nose and poked my cheek. "Then you'll look like the rest of these people: rough, twisted, ugly, and broken."
I smirked. "Kinda rough and twisted already."
She continues to poke my cheek, then pulls her finger down my jawline. "Leave it at that, and I'll make your cell more comfortable for you."
Raises a brow. "No weird stuff? I refuse to do weird stuff for favors."
Princess then kisses my cheek. "You've already done enough."
We locked eyes, feeling the natural tension build. But then Powder's face flashed to the front of my mind, and then the guilt and longing for her came.
"That look." She pats my ribs, making me flinch again. "All the ones I want always have that look." She lays her head on my shoulder. "Sometimes I wonder, who misses me like that?"