Page 8 of Ravaged From Fate

“How about you be the one to walk away, mister?” he asks me with a sneer. “This doesn’t concern you at all. Walk out that door, big guy.”

“Just leave the ladies alone and have a good night,” I reply, taking a step back. I’m trying my hardest here not to have this end in violence, but I’m too much of an optimist.

I’m proven wrong.

The next words out of the man’s mouth immediately diminish all chances of this situation ending peacefully.

“Oh, I’m going to have a good night now, joker.”

Sword Face takes a swing at me.

I’m expecting it, so I easily lean back just enough to let his fist hit nothing but air. I’m ready with my counter.

My own fist aims for his chest.

The man goes flying.

It all happens in the briefest of moments.

And now his goons come diving in. They’re all inebriated either on drinks or drugs, so their reflexes are muddled, and I’ve performed this kind of routine many times in many different bars, so I make quick work of them. But that doesn’t stop some of their blows from landing on me.

Fuck.

Pain ripples through me.

But it’s my chance to strike.

I get one of them once, twice, thrice in the face. I feel wetness rushing out of somewhere. Blood. But I carry on with adrenaline as my friend.

I force one of the guys down on the ground with a throw.

And then another.

The final two try to land a series of swings on my face, but my arms are raised protectively.

I jab one in the stomach, winding him and making him stagger back, gasping for air. For the other one, I use my own weight against his body and slam him down on the booth table. He stays down.

Here I am, yet again, fighting. Always my luck.

I feel dizzy. Not surprising, that. Fighting five guys is not the ideal thing to be doing. By now, the tattooed man is back on his feet, and he’s aiming straight for me.

Not over just yet.

I see the gleam in his hands before he reaches me. Darts. The ones he and his friends were just playing with in the corner of the bar.

Man, I hate it when they use weapons.

“So, it’s going to be an unfair fight, then,” I remark to the man, nodding at the sharp object in between his fingers. I find it hard to articulate my words on account of the blood currently filling up my mouth.

“You scared of a little pain, big guy?”

“Not as much pain as you’re going to experience.”

“Bring it on,” the leader snarls. “I’ll fuck you up.”

My hands curl back into fists.

Time to end this.