I don't remember the exact moment it happened. Just that... everything stopped.
The sound, the lights, the crowd screaming my name—gone in a single breath, faster than I could blink.
Now, I'm here, in what appears to be space but wayyy more depressing. There was no light from distant stars, planets, or any sign of activity, just the endless void... stretching out in all directions.
A sudden bout of anger hit me,boiling up from somewhere deep inside.
It wasn't wild or explosive like before or during a fight — not that kind of anger.No, this type was quieter but heavier.The kind that sits behind your ribs and squeezes until you can barely breathe.
Because seriously... after everything, this is what I get?After years of fighting, bleeding, clawing my way up to the top with my bare hands — this black nothingness?No heaven, no afterlife, absolutely nothing.
I grit my teeth. Or at least, I think I do. I can't even feel my jaw, but I want to. I want to clench something. Anything.
The silence mocks me. It feels like it's watching. Like the void itself is waiting for me to break.
But before I completely crashed out, I quickly caught myself, there it is again. That rage that made me commit mistakes that I wished I could wipe from my memory.
A lingering sense of shame creeped up on me, I quickly switched gears, practicing the breathing exercises my Pops taught me to control my emotions.
Even though I didn't have a corporeal body, I tried to focus on sensations other than my shame and rage. I reached out my senses, I felt...
Untethered.
Weightless.
If I had to describe it, it feels like I'm suspended in the space between heartbeats. The place between a punch thrown and a punch landed. Quiet, still, endless.
At first, I thought I was just unconscious. Maybe a knockout. Wouldn't be the first time. But this—this doesn't feel like unconsciousness. It feels… Cleaner, emptier.
I don't feel the ache in my ribs anymore. The bruises are gone. No pain, no weight, no heat. Just me, drifting in some kind of black ocean that has no bottom.
If this is what being dead feels like, it's kind of anticlimactic.
I always thought I'd go out with noise—sirens, shouts, maybe that high-pitched ringing that happens when your brain starts to shut down. But no. There's none of that here. Just silence that feels like it's pressing against my skull.
And I hate it.
I've lived my whole life surrounded by noise. The thud of gloves against punching bags, the roar of a crowd, the chaos of fists breaking muscle and bone. Noise was home. Noise was proof that I existed. But here… nothing. Just me and the dark.
Heh. I guess this is what they call peace.
Still, it's funny. All the times people told me to "find inner peace," this isn't what I had in mind. I'd have preferred a cold beer on a beach, not a damn void.
Maybe I should start from the beginning—no, that doesn't feel right. What's the point? I'm pretty sure the world's done with me. Or maybe I'm done with it.
What was my last thought again?
I remember the cage lights above me—bright, white, blinding. The smell of sweat and blood in the air. The crowd chanting, the adrenaline rushing through me like wildfire.
Then, a voice. My coach yelling something about keeping my guard up.
Then—
A flash.
I felt pain course through my skull, I felt lightheadedness, shock...
And then… this.
So yeah. I think it's safe to assume I'm dead. Or dying. Or… whatever comes after.
The thought should terrify me, right? But it doesn't. I'm just… tired. Tired of running in circles, tired of breaking bones just to feel alive. Tired of pretending that all the blood I spilled was for something meaningful.
People called me "Axel the Iron Fist". Funny title.They thought it meant I was unbreakable.
Truth is, I broke a long time ago.
Maybe that's why I'm here. Maybe the universe finally decided it's time for me to stop throwing punches at everything that moves.
Heh. I wouldn't blame it.
…Still, I kind of hoped there'd be more to the afterlife than floating in a cosmic screensaver. Where's the tunnel of light? The gates? The judgment? A guy with a clipboard telling me if I'm going up or down?
Guess they lost my paperwork.
Maybe this is my punishment—to just float forever. A man who lived for motion, now stuck in stillness.
Figures.
You know, I used to hate silence. But now, after who knows how long drifting here, I think I get it. It's not the silence itself that's scary. It's what it forces you to hear.
Your thoughts. Your regrets. Every mistake replaying like a highlight reel on loop.
The people I hurt. The ones I pushed away. The kid I used to be—the one who dreamed of being more than just a fighter.
Heh. Sorry, kid. You got your wish. You're more now. More broken. More bitter. More gone.
…
Wait.
What's that?
There's… light. Faint, but there. In the distance, like a star breaking through fog.
For a moment, I think I'm imagining it. But no—it's growing brighter. Closer.
It hums. Not a sound, not exactly. More like a vibration I can feel inside my head. Like someone knocking on the inside of my skull.
"Axel Thorne."
…Huh.
I didn't say that. But I heard it. Inside me. Someone—or something—is saying my name.
"Axel Thorne. You are unmoored. Drifting between life and death."
Well, that's… comforting. Great to know I'm in limbo. Always wanted to be a cosmic mistake.
The light shifts—no, moves. It stretches out like a hand made of fire and mist, reaching toward me.
Every instinct in me screams to pull back, to fight, to move. But I can't. There's nothing to push against. No air. No ground. Just the void.
And then the hand touches me.
White-hot pain bursts through me like I've been hit with lightning. It's not physical—it's deeper. It's me. Every memory, every scar, every rage-filled scream—all of it burns at once.
I want to yell, but I don't have lungs. I want to fight, but I don't have fists. So I endure. That's what I've always done.
The light floods me, and for a moment, I see flashes—images like reflections on shattered glass.
A city of white stone and spires. People walking with strange armor and glowing weapons. A massive tower, reaching into the heavens. And beneath it… darkness. A labyrinth. A dungeon that breathes.
"Live again, if you desire. Seek redemption, if you dare. But know this—this world is not kind to the lost."
Redemption, huh? Heh. That's a funny word coming from something that just electrocuted my soul.
Still… the word sticks.
Redemption.
I don't know if I deserve it. But I know I want it.
Before I can say anything, the light pulls harder, dragging me through it like a riptide.
And for the first time since my death, I feel something solid.
Weight. Heat. Pain.
I gasp—actually gasp. My chest burns, my throat feels raw, and air floods into my lungs like fire. My heart hammers, my muscles twitch, and I collapse onto course dirt, coughing like a dying man reborn, not too far off actually. I chuckle
It takes me a second to realize that's exactly what I am.
I look up. The sky is… wrong. Too bright, too blue. I looked around me; trees stretched endlessly in every direction, the air was fresh, clean, and without the impurities of mankind.
I laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of the entire situation, then I whisper to no one but myself,
"Guess the fight's not over yet"
Authors Note: If you guys have any suggestions or problems that I can fix with this fic, please leave some constructive criticism in a review or comment. I'm still a bit of a newbie in writing so I'll take all the advice I can get!