Two weeks later…

The same short ring of the bell echoed through the rowdy crowd once more, jostling and elbowing each other to get a better view of the match below.

[This is turning out to be the best semifinals in a while: Shaman vs Ripper! We’re coming to the end of the second round, but both fighters are still standing strong!]

Sel’s vision was blurry, blood trickling under the dented mask which was already covering one eye as swollen bruises on his arms and legs marked the spots in which he had been hit, his body already quivering, slightly swaying from side to side as the shouts of the warehouse arena invaded his mind, ears ringing.

His opponent on the other side wasn’t faring much better either, panting heavily with an arm that had beaten completely blue-black, dangling limply at the side. Yet both of them had eyes that could kill – determination the only thing keeping them standing.

Eternity seemed to pass as Sel’s only good eye locked onto his opponent, waiting for the next move. Neither budged an inch, somehow establishing an unspoken agreement to delay it for the next round.

[AND TIME’S UP! THE THIRD ROUND WILL BE THE END OF THE ROAD FOR EITHER ONE OF THEM: WILL THE MIRACULOUS SHAMAN FINALLY CRUMBLE HERE, OR WILL THE RIPPER FINALLY TAP OUT?]

The tension in Sel’s body nearly collapsed, his body swaying before being immediately caught from behind by a large man, his body dragged over to a side room beyond the chalk ring, the roar of the crowd slowly fading away before being plopped down onto a chair.

“Kid, hey kid, stay with me!” The larger man tapped Sel’s head while motioning for another assistant to bring a bucket of ice and towels over. Copious amount of blood were soaked up from his legs, absorbed by the freezing towel that caused Sel to wince slightly, his vision still blurry.

“Shit, the pain isn’t even focusing his eyes. Maybe we should tap out-“ The larger man was about to call it when Sel suddenly lunged out and grabbed him by the arm.

“No…! Not when I’ve come this far!” Sel grunted through gritted teeth.

“Are you serious, kid?”

“Just get me another mask and dab me.”

Mason gingerly removed the temple mask, grimacing at the sweaty blood drenched face of Sel underneath the mask. “Have you even seen what you look like in a mirror? I don’t even think your sister would recognize you.”

“Don’t try to stop me, Mason!” Sel raised his voice slightly, snatching a bottle of water from the floor and pouring it over his face, ignoring the stinging sensation of water flowing over his wounds. “I’m going all the way!”

“Right.” Mason wore a glove, dabbing Vaseline onto the open wounds of Sel. Mason was about to comment on the severity of some of the wounds when he personally saw one of the wounds clot over in real-time, as though he was watching something akin to a sped-up video. “Looks like the gods are really on your side.”

If only you knew. Sel smirked to himself, but the act of smiling only caused him even more pain. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore the jolting pain that surged all over his body each time the assistant and Mason touched them.

Right now, Sel was channeling Resurgence to its halfway mark. Over the last two weeks, he had experimented with the skill and found out that even though the cooldown was a week, it was referring to the ‘reset’ timing.

This meant that if he used 150 seconds out of the allocated maximum of 300 seconds, he would still be able to use the 150 seconds. It was like a stored deposit rather than a one time single activation. With this little trick in play, Sel had been able to combine this with the new Aspect Rank 2 passive of Cellular Regeneration to accelerate his muscle growth and build training stamina.

Sel’s body was far different than the lanky scrawny boy he was when he started – his muscles were far more defined now, the old shirts that he used to wear for more than five years barely able to fit him now. If he didn’t know any better he would have thought that his arms were allergic to sleeves now.

His entire core was well defined for all to see, with many gym goers thinking that Sel had been bulking or exercising for two entire years to achieve such a standard. He still wasn’t near a bodybuilder’s perfection as of yet, but then again he was training to fight, not to flex.

I have about 50 seconds left. Sel calculated as he ended Resurgence, allowing most of the wounds to remain. If he was too blatant about the self healing, it might expose him or bring unsavory attention to him. And possibly my family.

Chira’s warning of suspicious activity was slowly becoming true – Sel was starting to see more and more weird and out of place individuals gathering near his usual hangouts : the gym, his house and the temple.

Now, Mason had a group posted under Chira to protect the temple twenty-four seven, just in case of any funny business. “We all got to keep our heads lower, you hear?” Mason ordered his men just the day before. “No one make any funny moves – all racketeering, trafficking and drug deals stop now, until they go away. For all we know, they could be undercover police.”

The gang complied, cutting all their activites short and going underground. Some of them still hung around the gym, but Sel didn’t care, solely focusing on winning the tournament.

A light dab of Vaseline on Sel’s arm jolted him back to the present, Mason smiling. “Focus, kid. Don’t let your mind drift. Think about how you’re going to take down the opponent. Trying to tire him out isn’t going to work – he’s just as determined as you. And judging from the state you’re in, you’re in no shape to go into overtime.”

“So is he.” Sel grinned. “One more bout and I’ll knock him down for good.”

“That’s what you said last round.”

“This time for real.”

“Sure, kid. Time’s almost up. You ready?” Mason handed him a new mask, identical to the first.

Sel donned the replacement mask, as though he was putting on a brand new persona.

One where his fists decided his fate.

“Never felt better.”

“Right on.” Mason fist bumped Sel, leading him out again into the familiar chalk ring. Sel had now spent so much time training and sparring that the ring felt natural to him, like a second home.

Sometimes he wondered how he could have even survived outside of the ring, always yearning for victory and that intoxicating feeling of power over the opponent. That sense of overcoming every obstacle in your way with sheer guts and determination was addictive, a high he never could stop chasing now.

As he stepped out onto the ring, the crowd was also far different from what it was before. Instead of only being a minority of supporters, Shaman was now the favourite to win the whole thing, the odds all tilting in his favour.

“Look, I’ve been trying to say that Shaman will win this! He has the grit, the resilience! Ain’t no way Ripper knocks him out!”

“You’re only saying that cause you jumped on the bandwagon when he won the damn quarterfinal! Did you not see how injured Shaman was?”

“So was Ripper!”

[Time for ROUND THREE! THE END OF THE LINE!]

Sel stepped out, his wounds already clotted up as though he had rested fully for a day. On the other side of the ring, Ripper was still trying to catch his breath as he was supported back by his assistants, his footing unstable.

Ripper was just a bit older than Sel, also young and driven by ambition. Despite the immense pain of his wounds, Ripper still forced himself into the ring, assuming position and nodding to the announcer, ready to fight to the end.

The crowd was surprised at the sheer disparity of the ‘damage’ inflicted between Shaman and Ripper.

“Did Shaman take a dose? Is he on roids or something? I swear he was just limping at the end of the last round?”

“Maybe he was faking it? I’m completely clueless myself!”

“HEY THIS IS UNFAIR! WHAT HAPPENED TO BANNING DOPING?”

[We’ve thoroughly checked Shaman and his assisting team for any prohibited substances and found nothing, save for a few paracetamols. Perhaps that is the reason?] The announcer joked, earning the heckles of the crowd. Those who had bet on Ripper were already holding their heads in their hands, now a minority of the crowd.

Sel grinned under the mask, knowing the win was in the bag. Yet he did not get ahead of himself, wary of what Ripper could suddenly pull out. Any fighter who could make it to the semifinals had some measure of worth – it would be unwise to underestimate them.

[ROUND THREEEEEEEEEEEE- FIGHT!]

Sel hurriedly paced forward, occupying the center of the ring, while Ripper limped slightly, arms held up in a weak guard stance, Ripper’s face still pained from the constricting bruises on his arms that ached with every move.

The two circled each other slowly, watching each other. As Ripper observed Sel’s movements, he soon realized Sel truly was not as hurt as he was. He was under the impression that Sel had been faking it, but the despair began to set in, his face grim.

As soon as Sel spotted Ripper’s countenance changed slightly, he immediately went on the attack, stepping forward to throw a few ranging jabs. Ripper only managed to block one, the rest dodged only by the skin of his teeth.

[Ripper is looking far more sluggish than Shaman is! Can we expect to finally see the Shaman play a full offensive round out? Cheer if you want to see Shaman beat him up!] The announcer riled up the crowd.

“BEAT HIM!”

“THRASH RIPPER!”

“KILL HIM! I GOT ALL MY MONEY ON YOU!”

Ripper gritted his teeth, unwilling to back down as he unexpectedly went on the offensive, driving his foot forward before unleashing a fearsome kick aimed straight at Sel’s jaw. Sel blocked with his arm, using Rock Solid to harden just a bit of his arm and causing Ripper to yelp in rebound pain, as though he had just kicked a steel pillar.

Capitalizing on the opportunity, Sel took two paces forward, throwing a feint punch that forced Ripper to draw both hands to guard, before quickly targeting the bruised part of Ripper’s left leg, hitting it dead on to Ripper’s howl.

Before Ripper could even collapse onto the floor, Sel was already pouncing onto him like a wild beast, using his body to pin Ripper down and barrelling punch after punch onto Ripper’s head, who desperately shielded his head with flailing arms.

STAY DOWN!

Ripper tried to flex his body, attempting to squirm out of the body pinning, but Sel was too heavy, preventing Ripper from escaping the barrage of punches that landed hit after hit onto his head.

None of the guards intervened, only watching Sel hammered the living lights out of Ripper in brutal fashion, unfaltering to the cries of Ripper on the ground.

Punch after punch landed, blood splattering across the chalk ring and into the crowd to the cheers of the onlookers, calling for more violence. Sel revelled in the power that rushed through his body, nocking his fist back for a final blow before a hand grabbed him by the wrist, dragging him off the now unconscious and limp Ripper.

Sel quickly turned to throw a punch at the person holding his wrist, only to see his fist grappled by Mason in his burly hands, who glared at him ominously. “Enough! You’ve already won!”

“IT’S NOT OVE-“ Sel roared before being armlocked by Mason behind, stopping him from rushing forward back to Ripper.

“IT’S OVER!” Mason bellowed into Sel’s ears. “LOOK AT HIM! YOU WANT TO BE A MURDERER?”

Sel’s eyes finally focused, locking onto the unmoving body of Ripper, who was now being swarmed by his assistant team who already had a respirator and defibrillator kit on hand, trying to keep Ripper from dying.

A veritable puddle of blood was forming under Ripper’s head, causing the rush of violence finally dissipated from Sel’s mind, calming him down as his lungs heaved, panting heavily.

[WINNER: SHAMAN!] The announcer was unperturbed by the close death of Ripper, instead walking up to Sel and raising his hand up high.

The crowd erupted, their stomping enough to vibrate the entire structure of the warehouse in a resonating synchronized chant, hollering his name. “SHA-MAN, SHA-MAN, SHA-MAN.”

[The mysterious fighter does the impossible again! Now headed to the finals next week, can the Shaman stand against the winner of the other bracket, Apex? Grab your cash, salary, your savings and get ready to bet on the match of your lives! Early betting now open!]

As the crowd burst into a literal frenzy, Mason hauled Sel back to the waiting room once again, slamming him back into the chair. “What the hell was that at the end?”

“I won the fight. That’s what happened.” Sel grinned, still reveling in the adrenaline of the match as Mason stormed over.

“Bullshit – you knew the fight was over the moment Ripper fell down to the ground!” Mason fumed, grabbing Sel by the shoulder and shaking him vigorously. “Do you know what you’ve almost done? You’ve almost killed a man!”

“It’s an underground fight – of course people are going to die, Mason. You’re the one who taught me that.”

“You…. I never taught you to do any of that. Through all our sparring and training session, I’ve emphasized to not hit someone when they are already down!”

“I was making sure of victory! I’m going all the way! The last time I didn’t hit someone when they were down, they pulled a metal needle on me!” Sel shot back, reminding Mason of the fight against Solitary. “You want me to turn my back? Want me to get stabbed in the ribs?”

“It. Does. Not. MEAN! YOU BECOME A MURDERER!” Mason bellowed at the top of his lungs, his finger pointed dangerously at Sel. “Do you understand how close you were to killing a man? How close you were to becoming a criminal? How close to being arrested and jailed you were?”

“And what’s wrong with that? All of your men seem to be doing fine – you are doing perfectly fine despite being a gang leader.”

Mason suddenly lifted his shirt, Sel’s words stuck in his throat as he gazed upon the various bullet wounds, slashs and seemingly missing parts of flesh that was ever present on his entire body, the gashes and marks covering the skin, proof of enough fighting to last a lifetime.

“There’s your answer.” Mason pulled his shirt back down. “It’s fine to have the drive to win – BUT don’t make a decision you’ll regret. They’ll stick with you for life. Kill a man, and your name will be just as reviled as the ones who committed the Akama Shootout. You want that?”

Mason stormed off, leaving Sel alone in the room to ponder on what had just happened. Akama Shootout? I’m not killing a family of five here for chump change, I’m fighting for my life in an underground tournament!

Deep down, he knew that Mason was right – being a murderer would be the worst thing that could have happened to him. This tournament was meant to be a get rich quick scheme, but the fights and violence were starting to swallow him up.

Logically, Sel understood that he could not afford to commit any severe crimes. Becoming a murderer would immediately exposed his family to trouble and public hatred – his sister and his mom would be the most affected by it all.

Yet for all the logical considerations, Sel was looking for something else to convince him that what he had done was wrong. He had somehow hoped that his body would have instinctively revolted at the idea of killing another man, something akin to a natural aversion to murder.

However, he found no such moral barrier in his mind, as though he had been completely unhinged. The pain and the suffering over the last few months from continuous training, sparring, and taking hits had numbed him to the importance of life in general.

Now all that reigned in his head was a cold calculating mind that was prone to indulge in violence, a far cry from the protective brother than he once was. If Felicia saw me right now, would she even recognize me?

Sel chuckled to himself lightly. He remembered promising himself he wouldn’t go too deep into the gang, into the criminal life. Even had conversations with the Shaman trying to convince both him and himself that it was all good. But here he was, just minutes after nearly pummeling another man his age dead.

Beyond the waiting room, he could still hear the chant of the crowd, chanting his moniker in a never-ending victory cheer. Through sheer will and determination, he had carved out a name for himself, a name whispered through the underground as a fearsome fighter. That fact alone wiped out any lingering doubts Sel had about his path.

Fuck finding remorse – I’m strong now! I’m not the weak fucker I was before. Sel gritted his teeth and clenched his fist as he stood up. I make my own fate and choices.

And if my opponent in the final doesn’t stay down? I’ll pummel him into a grave, no matter what anyone else says.