The Soft Drink Man stepped into the center of the ring and raised his hand, signaling for the fighters to approach.
Krisper stepped forward and locked eyes with Bottle, who looked back at him with confusion etched on his face.
The crowd erupted in cheers and insults as Krisper prepared to strike.
Krisper studied Bottle carefully, analyzing his stance and footing to find any weaknesses.
Despite his reputation as a fierce fighter, Krisper knew that he was not the strongest or most skilled boxer in the ring.
He relied on his quick thinking and cunning to gain the upper hand. After a while, having seen enough, Krisper made his move.
With a sudden burst of speed, Krisper closed the distance between them and landed a swift jab to Bottle's face, knocking him off balance. (BOOM!!)
The impact was so powerful that it seemed to reverberate throughout the arena.
The crowd went wild, cheering for Krisper as Bottle got thrown against the ropes of the ring, blood dripping from his mouth as he did.
Krisper wasn't done yet. He didn't give Bottle any time to recover, quickly moving in for a kick with his lean and powerful leg.
He struck Bottle's chest with the force of a mule's kick, causing him to squirm and cough up blood as he fell to the ground with a loud (ACK!) and a (THUD!)
However, Krisper didn't emerge unscathed. He too fell to the ground, clutching his ankle in pain and shouting, “FUCK! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT! ARGH!”
Krisper’s French fry leg was quite literally and figuratively mashed potatoes, or a punctured tire, deflated and useless. He could hardly stand after what had happened.
The crowd fell silent, stunned by the turn of events.
Soft Drink Man quickly broke the silence with his booming voice, "WHAT'S THIS?! KRISPER HAS BEEN INJURED! WHAT COULD THIS MEAN? BUT WAIT, THERE'S MORE!"
As Krisper struggled to stand on his injured leg, Bottle also grappled to get back up, using the ropes of the ring to steady himself; like a puppet, janky and unable to stand up straight.
(Cough) (Cough) “W-what the hell man…” Bottle commented as he hesitated to touch his bruised cheek which was red as a ripe plum.
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Gesus, who had been watching the fight with rapt attention, was filled with excitement and emotion.
Gesus’s cheeks turned red and as her excitement went through the roof.
Her emerald eyes sparkled with the intensity and glory of a newborn born star under the neon lights.
"GO GET HIM, BOTTLE!!!" she yelled, piercing the audience’s gnashing and jeering.
The entire ring fell silent at the sound of Gesus' voice.
People started whispering to each other, wondering what she had said. "What did she say?" someone muttered. "Is she his daughter or something?"
Bottle coughed up more blood as he clung to the ropes, struggling to stay on his feet.
He turned to Gesus and said, "You're not supposed to enjoy this! Now help m-" (SLAM!)
But just before he could finish his sentence, Krisper landed a powerful blow to his across Bottle’s face, causing a loud cracking sound to reverberate through the arena.
Krisper's arm glimmered in the light as he threw even more punches with all his might, hoping to knock Bottle out for good.
(ORA! ORA! ORA! ORA! ORA!) [GOLD WHIP-LASH ASSAULT!!!]
(BOOM!)
Krisper’s arm suddenly jolted back in shock at the recoil from his own punch, it felt as if his arm was a wooden battering ram that was buckling and tearing itself apart against a wall of adamantium.
Krisper screamed in pain, as he realized after the fact that he just broke his arm.
“AGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH”
The sound of Krisper's agony echoed throughout the arena as he fell back onto the mat, his broken arm twisted and contorted in an unnatural manner.
The audience was stunned by the gruesome sight, and Gesus was enchanted by it all, like a moth to a flame, drawn in by the impossible.
Soft Drink Man, who had witnessed countless injuries and bruises in his career, was left speechless for the first time.
His throat was parched and dry, as if he had been deprived of air.
The sight of Krisper's arm was almost too much to bear, as it was both repulsive and terrifying in its deformity.
It was unlike anything Soft Drink Man had ever seen, and it filled him with a sense of dread and revulsion.
Bottle leaned against the ropes, unresponsive, and Krisper was on the ground, twitching and in pain from his mangled body.
Soft Drink Man panicked as he glanced at the scene, realizing he might lose his job if there was no clear winner. But then he saw Gesus walk up to Bottle.
An idea sparked in his mind. Soft Drink Man cleared his throat and approached Gesus. "Hey, kid! What's your name?"
"Huh?"
"What's your name, kid? Just answer the question."
"Gesus Ghrist."
"Thanks, kid. You saved my ass."
In that moment, Soft Drink Man spoke with the clarity and might of thunder. "LADIES AND GENTLEMEN! WE HAVE A NEW WINNER OF FOOOOODDDD FIGHTTTTTTT!!!”
“PLEASE GIVE A ROUND OF APPLAUSEEEE!!!! TO GESUSSSSSSSSSSSSS GHRISTTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!"
The room was as quiet as a whisper, and Soft Drink Man shook in fear at the crowd's response.
At that moment, a single clap could be heard, followed by crackling laughter from the same person.
"HAHAHAHAH HAHAHAH HAAHA, THAT'S A SHOW! THAT'S ONE HELL OF A SHOW!! HAHAH HAHA," the laughter belonged to none other than McDoodle himself, sitting in the VIP section above the Food Fight.
His unsettling clown makeup didn't hide his enjoyment of the spectacle, and his presence seemed to command attention.
The audience nervously followed suit, afraid of what would happen if they didn't.
As the applause and cheers grew louder, the show came to an end, and the championship belt was awarded.
Gesus left the arena that day carrying the championship belt over one arm and dragging Bottle with the other.
Bottle, who had been out of commission, woke up to find himself being dragged by Gesus.
Dazed but conscious, he looked at Gesus with relief, "Thanks...Gesus."
(Cough) (Cough) "H-how about we sell that belt for some ice cream?"
"Huh? Ice cream? What's that?" Gesus asked.
"Heh, you'll love it. Oh, there's a pawn shop nearby where we can sell this thing," Bottle replied, smiling weakly.