Gang Lord of the Heavenly God

"Who's watchin' the den?"

A teenager exuding his flamboyant charms wriggles the cup of wine he's drinking as he gazes at a stringy boy who appears to be his lackey.

Zev Carlo Ramirez, the rugged beefy kid placing firearms at the corner of the room. He looks at his boss with shaky eyes, scared he's done something wrong.

He reply by saying,

"Someone I newly recruited, I... forgot his name, but he is on the den tonight."

His face tightens, still quite apprehensive to the young man in front of him.

"Get two more on it,"

The Boss, the young man told Carlo as his eyes narrow, his chin jutting outward. The boss reaches up to adjust his fedora, placing it at a jaunty angle on the back of his head.

"It's a big night, I don't want to mess this up! Those donut-eating cops... make sure they are at bay!" The Boss adds as he gesture for Carlo to move.

Carlo scurries off like an obedient dog.

A couple of seconds later he comes back with two burly men with some striking thorn tattoos wrapped in their arms.

They bow as a greeting to Carlo's boss and the three of them went on patrol.

The Dungeon!

A fight club that seems like a cage house. Everyone knew this place as the den of delinquents and crime lords.

People called it such, because of the way it was built. An old tunnel that connects to the unfinished railway station leading to an underground abandoned building.

It's as if the whole place resembled a dungeon, commonly seen in video games.

The place is packed, crammed to the doors with nobodies, somebodies, and everyone in between—people with nothing much in common, except a hankering for blood.

—A toxic anarchy wasteland!

A starfighter, Flynn The Untouchable, has just finished his long, sauntering entrance.

His chiseled body is dripping with hot sticky sweat and he wears a pair of torn bandages in his arms.

His infamous bull tattoo, painted to look like it's angry, remains stark black on his back as he threatens his opponent with a mean face.

The challenger—A Ragorian Police, named Steven The Sod—had his hands up by his shoulders, itching to engrave his fist to his opponent's head.

They have come halfway around the den for a match, and Flynn thinks he'll be damned if some random police officer defeats him by luck.

After all, he had been the Champion of The Dungeon for several months now.

With a wave of the referee's hand, the show is on.

The fighters circles each other in the center of the arena.

Likewise, the crowd responds by shouting taunts and derogatory terms—A ritual that takes place at every start of a fight.

It made the atmosphere lively!

"Hoooo! Finish him off Flynn! I've bet all my money on you! You can't lose to that stinking fry!"

Some random bald nobody, shouts as he grips his thighs. He is a regular at this place and had grown accustomed to the said ritual.

Yet, as that baldy finish his words, someone who heard him retaliated with a roar of his own.

"No! I'd bet this new star can wreck this fat bull!"

A fat pig, fatter than the person he just called fat exclaims. Talk about ignorance to himself, he forgot that he is also fat!

Someone needs to be reminded of that, someone should also call him fat.

He is someone new who only got to know this place by a friend's recommendation. This is his fourth time entering the Dungeon and wants to enjoy his experience to the fullest.

And almost like a signal, the two stares daggers against each other. Each of them had its own roster, wanting to defend their money bags.

Flynn just glanced at them as if he saw them as idiots. But to hype the crowd, he stomps his feet, mimicking a bull ready to rampage!

He loves showing this off to hook his fans.

Along with his hand moving back and forth, gesturing for his opponent to come, he did not forget to yell out a greeting.

"Come to daddy! I'll ram you like a teddy."

As a response, his fans react cheerfully by whistling or clapping their hands.

The other fighter, Steven The Sod did not welcome this greeting and instead, felt Insulted by the taunt.

And as a result, he raised his fists.

The provocation Flynn gave, overlap with the very same insult he took from his fellow Police Officers back at his post. Somehow, this had infuriated him further!

He uses this place to vent out all frustrations of all corruptions he witnessed in his workplace, yet this fat bull wages a bully!

He can not stand it.

So when the bell rang, Steven The Sod, immediately sprints across the floor, throwing a flurry of jabs like slicing the empty space at unnatural angles.

Flynn is surprised, but not off guard. He parries all strikes confidently, throwing the Police Officer off balance for a split second.

But he persevered!

They exchanged a few more punches. Sometimes landing, sometimes missing their targets.

Time passed! They reached the 8th Round!

What felt like an eternity suddenly finished in a single, fluid movement.

Flynn The Untouchable swings his right hook clean across the chin of Steven The Sod.

*Kablam!*

The Police Officer, Steven The Sod quietly took the hit as he drops to the floor with a growing pool of his own blood.

Then the whole stadium erupts like the roar of beasts.

"How do you like that?!"

Flynn stared at his fans smugly, drunk at his own victory as he formed a fist in the air—proclaiming that he is still the Champ of the Dungeon!

At the same time, the eager bugs swarm the hall's counters to settle their bets. It is a predictable match! Most of them already believed that Flynn would win.

"Heh! Didn't I told you so, Flynn would win tonight!"

"I guess I lost this time, I don't want to be a daredevil next time."

Once again, the two nobodies who argued at the start of the match met, and just like them, a lot of the same occurrence is happening at all corners of this place.

Friendships that are bonded due to their thirst for violent spectacle!

As for the looser, what appears as the lifeless body of Steven is carried inside the corpse cart. He would soon be minced or burned away at the Dead bin's pit.

Back at the arena's floor, Flynn continued to celebrate with some of his loyal fans but his line of sight is directed at the Boss's room.

He had been bringing lots of revenues for this place, he thinks to himself that it's about time he properly receives compensation.

Spaced out for a second, Flynn started brewing a plan of his own...