Page 101 of Shadowman
“Shouldn’t he have blocked that?”
“Why do they call it an ‘uppercut?’”
“Do you think his nose is broken?”
“Is that a proper stance?”
“What happens if you run away?”
It’s actually kind of funny. He clearly knows nothing about professional fighting while being genuinely interested in my insights. Like I’m a UFC commentator or something—theJoe Rogan of underground prison fights.Honestly, it’s more entertaining than the match after a while.
The blood is flowing, fire being fueled enough that the next time Linetti is calling out, “Who’s next?” I’m stepping forward and cracking my neck.
“I’m in.”
Everyone cheers, I guess because, technically, I’m still undefeated. And the bets start rolling in, cash being tossed at Brenner from all sides.
“Fuck yea!” Linetti claps, looking around for someone to pit me against.
Before he can choose, Humphrey steps into the circle, serving me a look that’soverflowingwith something to prove. “Let’s go, champ.”
I narrow my gaze at him. Justin Humphrey is abigguy. Not that it means anything per se, but he’s always done pretty well down here. His last fight was against O’Malley.And he kinda sorta whooped my friend’s ass.
Still, I’m not worried. The dude has no form, and he wears himself out too fast swinging sloppy haymakers.
“Bets in!” Brenner shouts, signaling that we’re about to start.
Rolling my neck in Trevel’s direction, I find his eyes rounded, wide enough that the violet in his irises is visibly shimmering. He’s grinning, but it’s strained. Like maybe he’s… nervous. For me.How sweet.
Or maybe he’s nervous for the other guy. Either way, he’s clearly anxious about me fighting, and it sets the strangest sensation in my chest.
I don’t have time to be perplexed by it, because Linetti is hollering, “Fight!”
And we’re off.
As suspected, Humphrey’s coming at me quick, throwing big, meaty punches like Mike Tyson’s older, fatter cousin. Blockinghim is easy, but when he does catch me, the pain lights me the fuck up.
Fuck yea. You want some, old man?!
My body shots are tight, head shots fast and precise. Stick and move, I’m dancing around him like Ali, in my fuckingzone. The noise fades away, until all I can hear is my breathing. It’s like I’m underwater. Everything is rippling, slow-motion helping me to anticipate his jabs.
Ducking and dodging, I work on his legs, and his kidneys, kicking and kicking, sprinkling in blows so he doesn’t know what to expect.
Head, body, head.
This is where I feel at peace.
No more stressing, or obsessing…
No more doubting, questioning…
All eyes on me, because this is who the fuckIam.
A fuckingwarrior.
Sweet, simmering fury personified.
Humphrey is exhausted in mere minutes, wobbling and bleeding from his mouth. That’s when I make my move.
