A scream ripped through the air, and Luke's eyes snapped open. "So this is 'Judgement?' I thought it'd be quieter..." he muttered to himself.
He was in a vast, unfamiliar circular field surrounded by bleachers filled with silent, shadowy onlookers. A coliseum.
Directly in front of him was a boy, no older than twelve, pale and trembling. Tears streaked down his dirt-smudged face as he cautiously inched closer.
Disoriented, Luke whispered, "What's happening? Where am I? Is this… my 'Judgement'?"
Without warning, the boy lunged. A sharp punch slammed into Luke's face, snapping his head to the side. Pain flared across his cheek, and he staggered back.
"What the hell?! Why is he attacking me?!" Luke thought, confused.
Before he could recover, the boy was on him again, fists flying in a frantic repetition. A straight, then another, then another. Each strike fueled by something desperate, almost primal.
Luke stepped back, weaving instinctively. His body moved on its own, slipping left and ducking right, evading each blow like a dancer. But the boy didn't stop, and the silent crowd above continued to watch.
Suddenly, Luke's back hit the cold, unyielding wall. Trapped. Seeing no escape, he knew the only way out was forward.
Luke caught the boy's straight kick mid-air. For a split second, he froze, his eyes locking onto the child's tear-streaked face, his frail frame trembling with fear.
'He's just a kid...'
However, instinct took control, and Luke skillfully slipped to the side after driving a clean shot into the boy's side, precisely where the kidney was.
With a piercing gasp ripping from his throat, the boy stumbled. Holding himself up more by soid wall behind him rather than resolve, he collapsed against the chilly wall, barely standing. Where his breath had been taken by the liver shot, one hand gripped his side. His eyes were wide and glazed with anguish, and his legs trembled. His gaze meant that he would do anything to win and this made Luke wary of him.
'I have to end this.'
The choice became ingrained in his chest. He had to know if this was the 'Judgement' the 'Holy Scriptures' mentioned, a measured and weighed reflection of his life, or something else entirely. He took a step forward.
After the earlier shot, the kid was paralyzed and suffocated, hardly able to stand. With collapsing knees and pain-glazed eyes, he leaned against the wall like a dead branch in the wind. After he paused for a single breath, Luke took a step forward. He drew closer and tried a jab to see what resistance was left. As he attempted to defend himself, the kid recoiled, his arms shaking.
'Apologies.'
Without warning, the uppercut struck. The boy's head was snapped back with a crisp, explosive arc—fist-chin. His body fell together like a marionette with its strings sliced, his legs folding.
For a moment, the world stood still.
Then came the cheers.
Deafening applause exploded around him, echoing through the coliseum like thunder. Luke didn't raise his hands or look up.
'This isn't 'Judgement.' Not the kind I read about. This isn't some divine weighing of right and wrong. This is… something else.'
One moment he was dying, blood pooling from a bullet wound. The next, he was here, fighting a terrified child for the entertainment of faceless spectators.
His fists clenched. He looked around at the towering bleachers, at the shadows applauding his violence, at the blood on his hands.
"Fuck..." he whispered.
"Where am I?"