There’s nothing good on TV right now. The screen flashed images of red carpets, paparazzi, and scandalous headlines about celebrities I didn’t care about. It was all just shallow drama, sprinkled with the usual fearmongering news from people who hate us. I sighed deeply, the weight of my thoughts pressing on me as I reached for the remote on the small, cluttered table beside me. Empty soda cans and an old magazine teetered on the edge, signs of a life that felt stuck in a loop. I clicked the power button, and the screen went black, leaving the room eerily quiet. I leaned back against my pillow, propping my hands behind my head and staring up at the ceiling. The paint was chipped in places, the result of years of neglect, a visual reminder of how stagnant things felt. A longing tugged at me, gnawing in the back of my mind. I want some thrill in my life.

Finishing my second year of trade school was supposed to feel like an accomplishment, but instead, it felt like a checkpoint in a race I didn’t want to run. I was training to become a plumber—steady work, practical, something everyone needs. But to me, it was mundane. The thought echoed as I sighed again, louder this time. I get that some people love that type of life, the routine, the predictability. Not me. I turned my head to glance at the power outlet on the wall. Its plain, unremarkable appearance seemed to symbolize everything I was trying to escape. To survive in the modern world, you need a job that pays well. That’s what they tell you. Get a job, make money, settle down. Then, when you're stable, the next step is usually starting a family. The idea of that, of living out the rest of my days fixing pipes, coming home to the same four walls, doing the same things over and over—it felt like suffocating. Something was missing. The thrill I craved wasn’t just about money or stability. It was about purpose. Adventure. Something that made me feel alive.

I followed the cord trailing along the floor, reaching down to unplug my phone. The faint buzz of the charger stopped, and I clicked the side button to wake the screen. The familiar glow greeted me, casting a soft light across the room. There’s one way I can circumvent this boredom in my life. I entered my PIN and swiped through the home screen. Scrolling past a few apps, I tapped on the UFC icon. Combat sports. The thrill, the adrenaline—it was the one thing that had consistently made me feel alive. I might not have been gifted enough to debut as a pro, but in the amateur leagues? I held my own. Those days were a rush—bruises, sweat, victories, and even losses. They were some of the best times in my life, a far cry from the monotony I was sinking into now.

I kept scrolling until I found what I was looking for: McGregor versus Aldo. My favorite fight of all time. I could feel the excitement bubbling up as I hit play, the image of those two legends appearing on the screen. Watching McGregor K.O. him in one blow, reminded me just how vast the gap could be between even the best fighters. These weren’t just two average guys throwing punches—they were professionals, capable of dismantling someone like me with ease. As the fight played out, I wondered how I’d fare in that octagon. If I were to fight McGregor in that video, maybe I'd have a one percent chance of winning? A smirk crept across my face. Twenty percent if I attack him from behind?

I argue that I haven’t forgotten the form and techniques I spent five years learning in boxing. They’re still etched in my muscle memory, but I can feel how they’ve diminished over time—my punches aren't as fast, my footwork not as sharp, and my power not what it used to be. Just as I was mulling this over, my mom’s voice cut through my thoughts from downstairs. "Dinner’s ready, Ezekiel, come down!" I snapped out of it, turning off my phone and tossing it aside. Time to eat. I was tired, not just physically but mentally. I’d been overthinking everything tonight—my future, my skills, my boredom—and it was wearing me out. I rubbed the back of my head, letting out a sigh before standing up and walking toward the door. The familiar sound of my feet shuffling on the floor, Sshing!

What was that?

My familiar room began to dissolve around me, the walls warping and distorting into a chaotic blur. What was once solid started to melt away, replaced by strange swirls of white liquid that oozed and seeped into the corners of my vision. Was I laced with something? My mind raced to make sense of it all. Instinctively, I raised my arms into a guard stance. With how unpredictable the world had become, this could be an attack. Someone could’ve drugged me, or worse. Slowly but steadily, the room—my sanctuary, my space—was consumed by darkness. It wasn't just dimming; it was complete, oppressive blackness, as if the very concept of space had vanished. My vision faded, and I felt disoriented, unable to grasp any sense of depth or surroundings. I touched my cheek, the warmth of my skin reassuring me I was still alive, still grounded in something. But what? My pulse quickened, heart hammering in my chest. What the hell is going on?

A blinding light pierced through the darkness, coming from above. It flooded the space, illuminating everything in a harsh, sterile glow. I blinked rapidly, trying to adjust, squinting as the intense brightness overpowered my senses. When my eyes finally adjusted, I looked down and saw it: a white floor stretching out beneath me, with a bold, black octagon shape etched into its center. Is this… a cage? I slowly turned to my right, scanning the perimeter. Metal bars—cold, rigid, and unyielding—encircled the area, trapping me within this small, confined space.

A deep, gravelly voice boomed from my right, startling me out of my daze. "Have you adjusted yet?" I yelped, heart pounding in my chest, and stumbled backward, my legs tangling beneath me as I jumped. I hit the ground hard, knees digging into the surface. The sting of the floor jolted me as I stared wide-eyed at the direction of the voice. An old man, perhaps in his sixties, stood against the cage that encircled the room like a prison. His presence was unsettling. He was shirtless, his tanned skin stretched tight over thick, muscular arms that crossed over his broad chest. His scruffy beard matched the disheveled state of his long, silver hair, and deep lines crisscrossed his face, etched there by time and hardship. His expression was one of impatience, as if he'd been waiting a long time for me to catch up.

His cold, steely gaze pierced through me. "Man up, son." he said, his voice tinged with both irritation and indifference, like someone used to dealing with hesitant newcomers. The way he stood, arms crossed, exuded dominance, his biceps flexing slightly beneath his leathery skin. He wasn’t just old—he was formidable. I swallowed hard, taking in every detail. Were those boxing gloves on his hands? No—they were worn, fingerless gloves, the kind you'd see on a fighter in the UFC. They were cracked and stained with years of sweat and use. I pushed myself up off the floor, my hands shaking slightly as I brushed my knees. I struggled to make sense of the situation. I didn't know what to say to this man. Was he God? Everything about him seemed larger than life.

He cracked his neck, the sound loud in the silent room. "I am not God." he said, the words landing like a punch. My stomach twisted. He could read my thoughts? His voice, low and rumbling, continued, "Yes, I can. You want an explanation, don't you?" I nodded, my mouth dry. "Yeah, what is this? Is this even real?" He shrugged, his massive shoulders barely moving as he did so. "This is real, and you should be able to figure out why we're here." His tone suggested that I should already know the answer, but my mind was too clouded with confusion. He extended one large arm, opening his palm as though he were offering something unseen. Then, by magic, a small, plastic water bottle materialized in his hand. It was so ordinary in comparison to the strangeness of the moment that it took me a second to register it. He rolled it across the floor, and it bounced lightly toward me. "Drink it," he said, his voice firm but calm, almost like an order. "feel the sensation as you drink it." I bent down slowly, cautiously, and picked up the bottle, its surface cool against my skin. Twisting the cap open with a faint crack, I hesitated for only a moment before lifting it to my lips. 

This feels... so real. The sensation of the water still lingered in my throat, grounding me in the strange reality I found myself in. Every bead of sweat trickling down my back felt sharp, tangible. He nodded, as if reading the realization in my eyes. "You're right. Now you can't deny your situation anymore. Let's move onto the next topic." He punched the air suddenly, the motion swift and controlled, like a seasoned warrior showing off his craft. The sound of his fist slicing through the air was sharp, precise. He's got... great form. His muscles moved like a well-oiled machine, every twitch purposeful. He smiled at me, his expression almost kind in its coldness. "Thanks for the compliment." he said with a chuckle. "Seems like you know a bit about fighting. I want you to fight me. Simple as that. If you win, I'll let you go." Fight him? I glanced at his frame again, disbelief twisting in my gut. He's old, but he's definitely above my weight class. Still... I should be quicker.

I hesitated before asking, "That's all you want? A fight?" He spread his arms wide, his smile growing into something broader, almost... enthusiastic. "Yes, my friend! A good fight between the common man and me!" His voice grew more animated, almost nostalgic. "Everyone I've brought here so far has disappointed me immensely. When I brought in people a few thousand years ago, they were tough." He’s... brought others here? This man—or whatever he was—had been around for eons, collecting challengers like some sort of twisted hobby. I had to suppress a shudder. At least he wasn’t just killing me.

I snickered, trying to mask the unease clawing at the back of my mind. "Don't you think it's because you've attained amazing combat experience that nobody stands a chance anymore?" His smile faded, replaced by a look of irritation. He shook his head, his scruffy beard shifting as he did. "No, that's not it. Everyone before had much more defined physiques and a will to live. People now give up after a few punches." That sounds like something my dad would say. I focused on him adjusting his gloves. The leather creaked as he flexed his fingers. "I know the world has advanced a lot since I started," he continued, his tone growing more thoughtful. "but wouldn’t that make you stronger, not weaker?"

I shook my head. "It's because we have technology to do things that used to require twenty men. We're like this because of comfort." I hesitated for a moment, then added, "Also, why don’t you just bring in UFC fighters if you want to have fun?" He shook his head again, more firmly this time. "I always fought the common man, not the strongest of each time." His voice was stern, as if his code of conduct was sacred. Then his expression softened slightly. "Ah, I forgot. My name is Ostymidas. Well, are you ready?" I felt a lump form in my throat. What happens if I say no? Before I could speak, he fixed me with a sharp glare, his eyes narrowing dangerously, like I’d just committed a grave insult. His voice dropped to a low, menacing tone. "I'd erase you from existence."

My blood turned to ice, but there was no turning back now. I clenched my fist, feeling my knuckles crack under the pressure. I don't need any gloves, I thought, tightening my stance. They hamper my power. I raised my fists near my face, settling into a boxing stance, legs light, ready to move. Ostymidas crossed his arms again, appraising me with a critical eye. "Boxing, huh?" He uncrossed his arms, rolling his shoulders as he prepared himself. "I'll use my legs for now." His casual tone belied the confidence of someone who had fought countless battles. He started walking forward slowly, deliberately, his arms still crossed as if he was completely unconcerned with the outcome. "Let's have a good fight." he said, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. Sweat dripped down the side of my face, the weight of the moment pressing on my chest. I have to do this.

This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

I stepped forward, feeling the adrenaline surge through my veins, and fired off a sharp left jab. My fist cut through the air faster than I expected. It’s because my life is at stake that I’m able to bring out more. My senses were heightened, my body reacting with a precision I’d only experienced once before. Ostymidas was faster. With a fluid motion, he swerved to the left, his body spinning with unnatural grace. I barely registered the movement before he unleashed a left roundhouse kick aimed straight at my liver. His shin collided with my side like a battering ram, the force of the impact stealing the air from my lungs.

Pain exploded in my torso. My ribs screamed in agony as I crumpled to my knees, my mouth filling with the sharp, metallic taste of blood. I coughed violently, crimson droplets splattering the floor beneath me. Ostymidas didn’t relent. His expression was cold, almost bored, as he towered over me. He raised his leg high into the air, his foot poised above me like a guillotine. With a mocking grin, he yelled, "Finishing move, Axe Kick!" I looked up in horror, my vision spinning as his leg began its deadly descent. The sheer speed and weight behind his kick seemed to defy reality. His foot fell from the heavens like a meteor, aimed directly at my head. In that split second, I felt the shadow of death looming over me.

Move!

I leaped backward, my body moving just in time to avoid the fatal blow. His foot slammed into the ground where I had been moments before, the impact reverberating through the air like an earthquake. The floor cracked and buckled beneath him, and a crater formed at the point of impact, debris flying into the air. I scrambled to my feet, my heart pounding wildly as I stared at the destruction he had caused with a single strike. How strong is he?! The sheer force behind his attack, that’s not possible! No human—no being—should be able to create such devastation with a kick.

He dashed forward with blinding speed, his leg aimed directly at my shoulder like a spear. My instincts kicked in, and I rolled my forearm just in time to deflect the blow, redirecting the force away from its intended target. Pain shot through my arm like a bolt of electricity. That hurt! I gritted my teeth. Usually, blocking a strike caused some discomfort, but this felt like I had just blocked a hammer swung with full force. Ostymidas stumbled slightly, the first sign of imbalance I had seen from him. Sensing an opportunity, I threw my right fist toward his face, hoping to capitalize on the brief opening. His reflexes were too sharp. He dodged to the left again, moving with the same graceful efficiency as before. My heart sank as I recognized the motion. He’s going for the roundhouse again! With barely a second to react, I leaped off the ground, narrowly dodging the kick that had nearly taken me out the first time. His leg, however, didn’t follow through this time. Instead, he stamped it down with a heavy thud, his foot connecting with the ground like a gavel. He gave me a sly, mocking grin. "I only said for now, you know?"

Before I could process his words, his fist slammed into my gut. The world seemed to fold in on itself as all the air was forced from my lungs. A spray of blood and saliva burst from my mouth, and I flew backward like a ragdoll, slamming into the steel cage behind me. My head snapped back from the impact, bouncing off the metal with a sickening thud. Stars danced in my vision as I crumpled to my knees, struggling to stay upright. I can barely... move. My limbs felt heavy, my body numb with pain. My head drooped forward, and I fought to keep my eyes focused on him. Through the haze, I saw Ostymidas approaching, his eerie smile stretching across his face. "Lasted longer than the last few hundred chumps I fought." he sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. He raised his fist, showcasing it like a weapon of mass destruction. "This is the fist that will kill you." I raised my guard out of sheer desperation, my arms trembling. How do I get out of this? I couldn’t see an escape. Is there a way to get out of this? His knuckles crashed into my cheek with brutal force. My head whipped to the side, and my body twisted violently as I collapsed against the cage lining, disoriented and broken.

I tried to crawl away, my limbs sluggish and uncooperative. Panic seized me, and I scrambled to run, but it was futile. Before I could get far, his foot slammed into my stomach with crushing force. The impact knocked me back to the exact spot I had tried to escape from, my spine screaming in pain as I hit the ground again. I can't take this much longer... Suddenly, his hand seized my hair, yanking me up like I was nothing more than a limp rag. I dangled in his grip, my body drooping from exhaustion and pain. He lifted my chin with his other hand, forcing me to look up at him. He's sadistic. "Listen up, twerp." His voice was low, dangerous. "You seem to know a bit about fighting, and this is the best you can do? Show me what you got! Show me what you got!" I tried to answer. The will to fight was flickering out, like a candle about to be extinguished. My lips moved sluggishly, my throat raw from the constant taste of blood. "That was... all I had." Ostymidas licked his lips, his grin widening into something monstrous. "Show me something better," he growled, his tone chilling, "or I'm bringing your mom in here next."

Huh?

I charged a punch with all the fury I could muster, aiming for his liver. My fist shot forward, but Ostymidas was ready. He caught my punch effortlessly, his hand clamping down on my knuckles. "That had some power behind it," he mused, mildly impressed. I didn’t waste time. I raised my knee with every ounce of energy I had left, driving it into his chin. The impact was solid, enough to make him bleed. A thin line of red trickled from the corner of his mouth as he staggered back, momentarily letting me go. He wiped the blood with the back of his hand, retreating slightly as he spat out more. He cracked his knuckles with a smirk, the sound echoing ominously in the arena.

"That got you pissed, huh?" I didn't respond. I couldn’t waste time on words. Instead, I rushed forward again, my fist cocked back for another punch. As I closed the distance, he mocked me, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Your punches have no power behind them. You just had an adrenaline rush." He reached out to catch my punch again, but this time I didn’t back down. I kept the pressure on, using the momentum to push his hand back into his stomach. His eyes widened, clearly not expecting me to press so hard. I need more speed!

I didn’t let up. My right fist flew towards his face, and this time it connected. The shock of the blow rippled through his head, but it wasn’t enough. More, more! My next strike aimed for his pectoral, landing perfectly. He groaned in frustration. "What... is going on?" he muttered, disbelief creeping into his voice. Fueled by a protective rage, I yelled, "Don't threaten my mother, you bastard!" The words tore from my throat, and something inside me snapped. My punches came faster, my body moving almost on its own. I threw a relentless barrage of punches, each one aimed at his torso, his face, anywhere I could reach. Some hit clean, others he blocked, deflected, or dodged, but it didn’t matter. I kept him on the defensive, pushing him back towards the cage.

Ostymidas struggled to keep up, his earlier arrogance crumbling under the weight of my onslaught. His guard tightened as he focused purely on defending himself. My fists pounded into his arms, chest, and shoulders, but it was like hitting a brick wall. My momentum began to fade, the exhaustion creeping back in. I can’t break through. His defense was too strong. I wasn’t done yet. I feinted high, then leaned into a brutal hook aimed at his liver. The blow landed perfectly. His guard dropped as he doubled over in pain, grimacing as he tried to recover. Now’s my chance! I pointed my finger outward, and without hesitation, I jabbed it into his eye.

A guttural cry escaped him as he clutched his face, trying to soothe the pain. Blood streamed from his eye, and I took the opportunity to leap back, creating some distance between us. I needed space to breathe, to think. Ostymidas, still clutching his eye, pointed a shaky finger in my direction. "I know what's going on... hysterical strength!" His voice was rough, strained. "Very few have been able to bring it out in these fights!" His eye... it was regenerating. Right before my eyes, the damage I had inflicted was reversing itself. His gaze locked onto mine, as if seeing me through the haze of pain. But I wasn’t about to let him recover fully.

This ends now.

I sprinted forward with everything I had left. My legs burned, my lungs screamed for air, but I kept going. As I reached him, I jumped, bringing both feet up in a powerful drop kick. My body sailed through the air, fueled by desperation and raw instinct. His regenerated eye focused on me just as my feet collided with his chest. Every muscle in my body clenched as I drove my feet into him with everything I had. His neck twisted violently with a sickening snap, and for a moment, the world seemed to freeze. I hit the ground hard, landing flat on my back. The force of the impact sent shockwaves through my body, knocking the wind out of me.

He dropped lifelessly onto me, his weight pressing down like a deadweight. My breath hitched as I realized what had just happened. He's… dead. I shoved him off, using what little strength I had left to roll his massive frame away from mine. My chest heaved as I tried to catch my breath, but something twisted in my stomach. A foul taste rose in my throat, and before I could stop it, I vomited onto the ground beside me.

That's... disgusting. I wiped my mouth with the back of my trembling hand, my mind racing to process what just happened. I knew it had to end like this, but... My thoughts spiraled until a voice cut through the haze, the last voice I ever expected to hear again. "That was good, son." I jerked my head around, eyes wide with disbelief. Ostymidas—alive, whole, and somehow standing—appeared behind me, casually brushing himself off as if nothing had happened. Panic surged through my veins, and before I could think, my fist instinctively cocked back, ready to fight again. But as I tried to strike, my body betrayed me. I collapsed to the ground, my limbs refusing to obey.

He laughed, a low, rumbling sound that echoed through the void. "Your body just used everything it had. I wouldn't be surprised if you need to go to the hospital after this." I lay there, panting, helpless. His figure loomed above me, but there was no longer any malice in his gaze. He turned away, looking out into the endless dark expanse that surrounded us. "I'm nice, though. You can leave." He snapped his fingers with a casual flick of his wrist. The world warped around me. In an instant, I was no longer in that dark, godforsaken cage but back in my room. The faint scent of my mom’s cooking wafting from downstairs. It was like I’d never left. But I knew better. Was that real?

I scanned my body, half-expecting to see bruises, cuts, or some sign of the brutal fight I’d just endured. But there was nothing. No injuries, no blood. Yet, I could feel it—something different, a weight, an unfamiliar strength coursing through my veins. My muscles ached in ways they hadn’t before, but they also felt... stronger. I said I wanted a thrill, but not like that. A voice called from downstairs, pulling me back to reality. "Are you coming, slowpoke?" Has time even passed? The thought lingered for only a moment before I pushed it away. No, it’s not time to question that. I don't think I can handle life if I start questioning what just happened. I stood up, wobbling slightly as my legs adjusted to the sudden shift back to normalcy. Shaking off the lingering disorientation, I moved towards the door and shouted back, "I'm coming, Mom!"