Chapter 4- Battle to the brink of death

Tim stepped inside the blacked arena and his heart thumped with expectation. The air smelled foetidly of sweat and booze, and voices in cheer and ridicule bellowed at the walls. He made his way through the dense throng of people, his eyes wide with marvel and trepidation.

As he inched his way forward, he could see touts waving fistfuls of cash and people flushed, red with excitement. He felt a feeling of uneasiness overcome him. Was this possible for these people when the city lay in ruins, its people suffering?

Suddenly, the thoughts were broken into by the sight of some injured fighters being taken away—bodies all battered and bruised. Tim felt a churning in his stomach with fear. Was he up for this?

He walked towards a man standing at the corner, his voice shaking. "Excuse me, please, sir. Can you tell me where the registration for the fight is located?"

This man came up to Tim, looked him in the face with a sneer, and brazenly asked, "What's a scrawny kid like you doing here? This isn't a place for weaklings."

  

 

Tim swallowed hard as his palms began to perspire. "I need to win the prize money," he stuttered, "to pay for my mother's treatment."

The man laughed, a hard, jeering sound. "You think you can play these guys?" he said, gesturing to the well-muscled fighters in the ring. "Look at you. Skin and bones."

Tim's face flushed with shame, but he squared his shoulders, not backing down. "I have to try," he said. "I'll do whatever it takes to help my mother."

His expression softened a bit. He shook his head and wrinkled his eyes, saying, "You're a fool, kid," before pointing out the registration desk across the room. "But if you're determined to get yourself killed—"

Tim nodded vigorously and quickly thanked the man as he started in the direction of the registration desk; his mind was filled with doubts and fears.

With a sigh, he signed his name on the registration form. A chill went down his spine as he did so, and he could not rid himself of the sinking feeling in his stomach. He shrugged it off; he had to win. For his mother.

Nervously standing near the edge of the arena, Tim awaited as the announcer's voice was heard once more.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new challenger coming into the house!" the announcer exclaimed, his voice booming with excitement. "Fresh blood, on a quest to take on the reigning champion, Sakaar!"

Tim's heart raced with the mention of his name, and he stepped forward onto the stage, his legs feeling jelly-like as their weight received initial impacts. The spotlight was blinding, and he blinked, trying to get his eyes adjusted to the sudden light.

But before Tim could gather his bearings, a voice from the crowd cut like a knife through the noise. "Hey, look at this twig! What's he here for?" someone shouted, his words dripping with disdain.

The slap of the insult to Tim was like a gut punch, and the crowd erupted in laughter. He could feel the flush of his embarrassment creeping up his neck as he stood there, naked and vulnerable.

Some others booed from the crowd, and some began tossing things in his direction. Tim ducked and weaved as things whizzed by his head, barely missing him.

The announcer's voice cut through the noise, declaring the name of Tim's opponent. "And now, facing off against our newcomer, Sakaar!" he declared, his voice ringing with excitement.

 

The crowd erupted into cheers, chanting Sakaar's name as if he were some kind of hero. Tim watched in stunned silence as a hulking figure emerged from the shadows, his muscles bulging and his face fearsome.

The announcer continued, voice dripping with dramatic flair. "And, ladies and gentlemen, there's Sakaar, ready as ever—he's scored more kills than we have fingers! He's a menace—a titan, a real titan of the arena!"

The crowd went wild, but Tim felt his stomach begin to turn with the anticipation. How would he ever defeat such an opponent?

As if he read his thoughts, the announcer turned around with a smirk. "Hope you've brought your shovel with you, kid," he quipped again, this time adding amusement. "Looks like you're gonna need it!"

The crowd bouts into laughter once again as the announcer chuckles, backs off, and lets the fight begin.

Tim swallowed hard as the ends of his hands shook. It was time: time to prove himself in the ring.

Sakaar growled menacingly as Tim, careful not to make any sudden movements, stepped back a little and offered a tentative greeting. "Hello," he replied barely above a whisper.

But Sakaar's answer was not verbal, for he followed up with a fast, hard fist into Tim's face—before him. Tim fell back, holding his throbbing cheek, as the crowd erupted into cheers.

As soon as Tim had a second to catch his breath, Sakaar thrust him up by his throat once again, having managed to lift most of his own body off the ground. Struggling for a breath, Tim gasped and gurgled as Sakaar continued to choke him.

Sakaar propelled Tim across the stage with a grunt of effort. So the poor man tumbled to the ground in a heap. Tim felt a burst of pain in his body when he hit the hard floor, with blood trickling from a gash on his forehead.

As Tim struggled to push himself up, Sakaar advanced, his massive form eclipsing the battered frame of Tim. Grunting with effort, Sakaar lifted Tim by the body and raised him into the air with seeming ease.

Sakaar slammed Tim down across his knee with a brutal motion, shattering shockwaves of agony through the spine of Tim. He cried out in pain, his body wracked with agony.

When Sakaar threw Tim aside, raising his hands in victory, the crowd roared in delight. Lying shattered and defeated on the ground, the announcer called Sakaar the champion of this fight, and the words kept ringing in his ears.

The crowd continued to yell as, in the ring alone, Tim heaved to will himself upright. Blood dripped from his wounds into the dirt and sweat on the floor. He was weak. He was tired. He sat there; he couldn't give up—Tim knew. Somehow, he had to save Mum, whatever it cost him.

As Tim forced himself to his feet, he could only think of his mother lying in that hospital bed, fighting for each breath. He couldn't let her down. It was for her that he had to do this.

The crowd went still as they watched Tim get back up onto his feet, his body bruised and battered. Sakaar, his opponent, looked first surprised and then angry. With a roar, he came at Tim, his foot delivered in a furious kick that sent him crashing to the ground once more.

Gritting his teeth, Tim bit through burning pain, whispering to himself that he could not stay down. He just could not give up.

With the last of his strength, he managed to push himself upright again. Angered that Tim wouldn't stay down, Sakaar launched another flurry of blows. A powerful uppercut sent Tim sprawling, but he refused to stay down.

It was when Tim fought somehow to his feet again that something inside him felt to be shifting. He could feel a power race through his veins, a feeling so primitive that it felt to be flowing through the very fabric of his being.

Tim's instincts flared into life like a fire-beaten animal—a ferocity he felt his entire life but expressed only that one time—as Sakaar's fist hurtled towards him. It was almost as if time had all but come to a stop, and everything around him had turned to a blur as he felt the energy race through his veins like some sort of animal arising from the deepest core of his being.

With incredible swiftness, Tim's hand shot out to intercept the Sakaarian punch. His fingers wrapped around the brute's massive fist. But instead of feeling the impact of the blow, Tim felt something much more unusual: an instant, strange connection between him and his opponent. It was as though he could feel Sakaar's rage, the anger that poured through the man like a raging, living thing.

Something in Tim stirred, something he had never known. An uncomely power pulsed through him like an otherworldly force. This newfound strength coming to life, his skin began blanching, his features perverse, resuming into shadows and danger.

"I smell your rage," Tim whispered low and menacingly. "And I want more."

With a bestial scream, he impaled his other hand into

Sakaar's face with all his might. The impact was like thunder, sending ripples of shock through the air as Sakaar's skull exploded in a gore-splattered burst of blood and bone.