There are corners of the world that not even the sun can reach. Where poverty, pain, sadness and desperation mingle and dance around the broken hopes and dreams of people. Where hope only brings suffering. One such place can be found in the suburbs of New York, where broken people find that the only way to stay alive is to fight for the entertainment of the powerful. Fighting amongst humans possessing even average amounts of Energy and betting on such fights is extremely illegal. But why would that matter to people who have lost everything already?
You have to kill or be killed.
One of these people is Cain Thorne. Seventeen and already fighting for his life in a ring of death, stained with blood that never dries and the cries of those begging for mercy. He is an orphan. His mother and sister died in a plane crash, after which his father traded him for a bottle of cheap liquor. Alone, Cain ended up working for Gregory, a surly man, who loved nothing more than money and who saw Cain as a great new candidate for his fight club.
Since the age of 13, he had been fighting daily for his life, to the point where the flesh disappeared from his knuckles, leaving only white bone covered by bandages. But he didn't wear them because he was afraid someone would see his hands. The opposite, really, he would have liked for his opponents to see his bones and read on them only death so that he could finally have one break. But that never happened. When desperation seizes someone, the fear of losing shrinks greatly. Cain only wore those bandages because it was easier to strangle a large opponent than to punch them down.
He was yet again in the corner of the ring. He wasn't nervous, his feet were steady, and his eyes locked on his opponent. Hunter was his opponent for that match. He was shorter than Cain, at about 1.70 meters and thinner than him as well. Some might think that a smaller opponent would be better, but that was exactly what bothered Cain. Short height meant he could get up close, and the thin body meant he was fast. The exact kind of fighter Cain despised the most, and Gregory knew that.
He looked up to a special part of the stands, warded off by one sided glass which he couldn't see through, but he knew Gregory was behind it, along with some rich guests who couldn't wait to see which poverty ridden man would fall prey to weakness first. Bets were called all around the ring and after a while the infernal sound of the bell rang through Cain's ears.
As expected, Hunter dashed close to Cain, hitting him with a barrage of blows before he could take more than a few steps from his corner. His defense was strong, and Cain prided with being able to block hits just as well as he was able to dish them out, yet somehow, this thin man was able to slip through the tiniest cracks in between his arms and land a few shots that nearly made his knees buckle.
Cain pushed Hunter back, to get a second of thinking and to be able to hit back, but the man jumped back onto him like a leech that had tasted blood. With a final effort, Cain managed to throw him into the metal fence surrounding the ring. the two fighters looked at each other and what Cain saw made his blood boil.
Hunter had that look in his eyes. The kind that said "I have already won. I'm better than you", then he spoke with a voice fitting his stature. "We both know which way this battle is going so how about you forfeit so I don't have to bruise you even more". Cain frowned at his words. This man came into his ring and asked him to surrender? Sure, he was faster, but one feat of power was in no way enough to win a battle such as this. One where your entire life could be staked on whether or not you could take just one more hit. "Only one of us can leave this ring upright. So shut up and fight".
This time Cain dashed and threw a haymaker straight to Hunter's head, one he knew his opponent would avoid, just so when he slipped past him, under his arm, Cain turned on the tip of his foot to hit Hunter in the side of the head with his heel. Hunter grabbed his head from the pain and Cain yet again dashed, this time to grab his arms and pull his knee into Hunter's chest, knocking the air out.
Then just for safe measure, he grabbed his arm with both of his hands and threw him over his shoulder and onto the cold, blood tainted cement floor. He didn't get up, and Cain didn't see him move at all. Some guys dressed in tight black t-shirts just came into the ring and dragged him away. Maybe he was dead, maybe he was passed out, or maybe he was just pretending so that he wouldn't get hit again. Still, none of that mattered to Cain. What mattered was the little prize money he would receive, meaning he could live for one more day... one more day of pain... of sadness... of broken hope... hope that all of this was for something, that one day, something would change and he could live his life like a normal person, in comfort.