Locked In

The announcer keeps talking, introducing more names for the other two matches going on. But the ringing bell in my ear muddles whatever meaning those words have. 

I'm really locked in now. It's a fight or a face pounding. Or, I could surrender. That way I can leave unharmed and in perfect shape for the fight with the parasite watching me outside these gates. 

My sparkling enemy methodically slides his feet closer to me. 

"Hey wait I want to-" 

Mid-thought, the circus reject takes a swing at me. His glove pushes into my cheek and I almost bite down on my tongue. The spotlights flick off for a minute and my body drifts away from my control. That flicker, the sudden clearing of any thought in my mind. It flips a switch. The same switch that flips whenever Victoria is in the same room as me. My back leg catches my fall, my right fist tightens in the glove, and I push off, instilling my rage into a counterjab. 

"Oh wait, were you saying somethi-" 

I catch him in the same position he had me, but his face takes the hit much better than mine did. His daze lasts maybe a second, then his counter-counterattack strikes. 

My arm bears the brunt of a right jab, going red with the block. Then his leg follows before I can react, biting my shin. Another hit to my gut, then another slices my chest. 

Ugh! He's not letting up! Just get off me! 

His relentless offense must be taking his focus away from protecting himself, because my right hand easily weaves through his soft defense and blows a hole through his cheek. 

"Ren with a devastating right hook!" I feel a small smirk rise when I hear those words from the announcer. I got him pretty go- 

But then something wipes the smile from my face and deflates my balloon stomach. "And Brooks responds with a swift jab to the stomach!" 

The rupture in my center sucks up the pain, and my body digests it as an unexplainable, almost primal desire to strike back. My face inflates with that feeling and I send a missile into an open port in his stomach. 

I know that hurt! He doubles over as well, and his face ignites with the same primitive flame as mine. 

He's going for another punch, I can't let him get it for free! 

Both our fists clench and extend behind us. It's weird, I can see his angle of attack before he even throws it, like time is moving in slow motion. I wonder if he can see the same thing. 

Either way, neither of us changes our plan. Instead of dodging or blocking, we both sign an unspoken pact with our eyes that binds us to throw our fists into each other's jaw. 

"They're sending wave after wave of punches at each other, neither side letting up! Both are staggering with each punch taken!" The speaker commentates. 

Honestly, I'm just swinging wildly! I'm no fighter, my punches are just flying in his general direction. Some beat into the air next to him, but for as many times as a kick or fist snap into my body, I feel my hands puncturing flesh. 

My lungs are on fire, heaving smoke out my nose. I want to back away because the strain on my body is blurring my vision, but every time he sinks a punch in me, it wakes something back up. Something that wants to get him back for the pain I feel, so I stab him with a counter. 

I don't think running is an option for me anymore, he's not giving me a second to tell him I want to surrender. And even if he did, I wouldn't quit until I felt like I got him back for every second of pain he's giving me! So, barring letting myself get knocked out, my only option is to stay on this never-ending ride until one of us falls over. 

On and on and on. A kick to my arms, a jab at his eye, a punch in my stomach, a kick at his shins, a hook across my face. Before long, my whole body is throbbing like crazy. Losing seems like the only possible result for me here. But, and I might be crazy to think this, I think he's getting slower every time I hit him... I was hitting him once for every four times he hit me, but now we're going blow for blow! 

An uppercut of his falls short of its mark, and I counter with a piston jab to his stomach. It caves against my weight, and he hugs his center, signaling for me to press further if I want to end this. 

I hope you're watching Catherine, your husband's about to get a knockout! My left arm, carried by equal parts love and adrenaline, dislodges sweat drops from his face. The uppercut, backed by the swing of my whole body at once, dims the light in my eyes, keeping me from seeing what happened until it was finally over. I blink to see him falling in slow motion like a cut tree, and the glitter on his clothes stains the faultless floor. 

For a minute, maybe an hour... I don't know at this point; time feels so long. I stand still in the center of the ring, not fully believing what's in front of me. 

I only register what I've done when the announcer's voice slices through the ringing and says, "And the Curator Ren Lu's won his match!"