Come on, Ryder.
Just win this fight so we can get the fuck out of here.
Fang stands on the sidelines around the sunken pit with another cigar between his thumb and forefinger. He takes another long lug, and a chesty cough escapes his mouth, the smoke emanating out of him like the fire-breathing bunnies.
Ryder stands next to him, his hood now nothing but a pile on the stone below. He wraps his knuckles tightly with an off-whitebandage; small crimson spots seep through—a self-inflicted injury from the damage he caused to the three men before. My mouth goes dry watching him, my tongue sticking to the roof of it in desire. Gods, he’s so perfect.
His white vest top hugs his frame, accentuating his muscles, and the hum of danger in the air is intoxicating. Don’t get me wrong, I want this to be over, and a small part of me is worried that he may lose this fight, but that part is truly minuscule. I’ve learned not to underestimate him; he is arrogant for a reason, and he could probably take a hundred hits and still get back up.
I shuffle my way to the front through the bodies, and his eyes meet mine, an ocean of caramel my heart longs to swim in. He can sense the change in my demeanour, the way my eyes linger over every aspect of his body, drinking him in. The corners of his mouth rise to a small smirk, and he sends me a wink. My knees weaken instantly, and for a moment, I feel as if I have sunken into the pit with him. He drives mewild.
“Give it up for Venom!” Fang shouts, but the reaction that disperses from the crowd is not one I expected. Men spit, hiss, and boo at Ryder wasting their precious ale on him, throwing the bitter liquid up in the air so that it drenches him. Ryder’s white vest, now wet with booze, sticks to him, which only makes him look more appealing. The response from the crowd does not trigger Ryder, instead he encourages it, gesturing for the crowd to shout louder.
Gods, what is he doing to me?
“Now give it up for our reigning champion, The Skull Crusher!” Fang shouts, and this time the crowd erupts into primal cheers, shouting things like “FUCK YEAH!” and “CRUSH HIS SKULL!”
My heart stills for a moment. It’s like this whole place is crumbling down around me. I try to breathe, but my lungs fightme. My first reaction is to place my trembling fingers over my mouth in shock.
The ‘Skull Crusher’.
The man that Ryder is expected to fight towers over him, his body thick with hard ridges of muscle, the type of body that looks absolutely impenetrable. I fear a blade to his skin would break the knife. Fang said that he was the reigning champion, and I don’t doubt it for a second. The stone in the pit is stained a musty brown with dried blood, and I don’t have to imagine that most of it has probably been spilt by him. I swallow down my anxiety with a hard gulp.
Ryder’s eyes widen upon first glance at the size of his opponent, but they quickly narrow to a fierceness, like an elion sizing up its prey. His arrogance still follows him; he does not look fazed by the monster in front of him.
“You all know the drill. No Gifts. One survivor.” Fang shouts, and the crowd shouts with him. “Let the best man win!”
The skull crusher doesn’t waste any time moving in on Ryder. With fists clenched like blocks of cement, he hammers down fast in Ryder’s direction. Ryder ducks low and manoeuvres out of the firing line, the skull crusher’s fists making contact with the stone pit instead of him. The ground reverberates, like brick colliding with brick and a crack forms like a vein in the stone below.
Now I know how he got his nickname.
I flinch at this hit, my head wants me to look away, but my eyes don’t want to miss a minute. The skull crusher isn’t wearing a shirt; his rotund stomach precedes him just like his reputation. There is something about him that unsettles my stomach, something not quite right. His proportions look slightly off, his arms a little too long for his body. At first glance, it’s not evident, but the more I look at him, the more his figure resembles that of a gorilla. A seven-foot-tall gorilla with tattoos and scars tarnishing his white skin.
So his skincanbe broken.
His hits have immense strength, but the pure weight renders him a little slower than Ryder. He uses this to his advantage and jumps around the ring, circling the skull crusher like a shark. Ryder jumps in close every so often, landing quick, hard jabs to his opponent’s ribs. The skull crusher barely registers the hits, like his skin is made of armour. It’s going to take a lot more than that to bring him down. I watch with one eye open, my heart tugging on Ryder’s strings, a puppet to everyone of his movements.
The skull crusher’s fists are white-knuckled again as he pummels towards Ryder like a windmill; his hits are aggressive with immense driving force. My heart jumps as Ryder is forced back by his swings, the edge of the pit warning his ankles that he is too close to the outskirts. It thumps out of my chest, and for a second, I forget about the discriminative eyes that may be watching me. My hand motions to the left only a millimetre, but enough to cause the man to stumble, tripping over his foot. I am sure no one saw me use my power of Influence, they all continue to jeer, and snarl and the skull crusher looks perplexed and a little embarrassed at his forced lack of judgement. But Ryder’s eyes are on mine; they speak a thousand words. A thousand warnings. He knows I interfered, and he does not look happy about it.
Although my meddling frustrated him, it gave him a little extra time to think about his next move. Ryder ducks low to the ground and rolls between the skull crusher’s legs, sliding out the other side of him. In a quick second judgment, he runs and jumps into the air, aiming a sharp kick to the centre of the skull crusher’s back. Ryder’s foot drives into him with force, knocking him down to his knees as they smash into the edge of the stone, and his body crashes hard into the ground below; the pit shakes with his force.
“The bigger they are, the harder they fall.” Ryder declares, and an unnerved chuckle escapes my mouth. The crowd now shouts again for Ryder, this time with a new hunger, a realisation that he may defy all odds and crush the man that crushes skulls.
Ryder’s opponent’s fists dig into the stone below as he lifts his body back up, his knees dripping with bright red blood. Anger erupts out of him like a firework; his steps now striding with retribution towards Ryder. But Ryder just smirks at him.
My eyes watch him in disbelief; his demeanour really is stoic, not an ounce of fear drips off of him. He saunters around, comfortable in the uncomfortable. I once read somewhere that a cockroach can live in almost any condition
—Ryder is a cockroach.
“This is getting boring now.” Ryder taunts, beckoning his opponent towards him. A fury lights up the large man’s face, igniting his eyes. He sends a strong blow into Ryder’s stomach, making him cough and splutter. The crowd roars again, but I’m sure my heart just stopped.
Ryder is thrown back into the side of the pit, clenching his stomach, a blue bruise already forming around his ribs. The skull crusher lands his dense weight on top of him, and his fist readies to hammer down on Ryder’s face. I can’t breathe.
As the skull crusher’s hand crashes down in Ryder’s direction, it is blocked by his forearm as a lilac fire claims the rims of his eyes; they burn bright and spread like a rage threatening to turn anything they touch into embers. Only for a second.
The mindless drones watching just hungry for blood fail to notice the switch in Ryder, but my eyes have been stuck to him like glue, my heart in torment with this sick show.
My trembling fingers hide the gape of my mouth as the skull crusher’s eyes widen. He saw the magenta gradient in his eyes,the darkening of the lines in his forehead and the tightening in his jaw. If he looked fierce before, he looks dangerous now. His black veins dance under the pressure like the weight is nothing. The man drives with all of his strength to penetrate the wall that is Ryder’s arm until he is blue in the face. But Ryder is stronger.
