Sitting in the locker room, we heard the announcer hyping up the audience. People, as they said, wanted bread and circuses. But people also wanted blood, and today they’d get their fill because today was the final of the Super Bowl. It was nothing like the charade MMA had turned into, with fighters dancing around each other like ballerinas, but the real deal. Bandaged fists, free hits with the head and elbows, kicks, and trampling on your opponent’s skull once you have had your fun. In general, you could do anything so long as you made the people scream with excitement and horror at the same time.
Alex stopped listening to the shouting coming from the bleachers and leaned down to me.
“Don’t neglect footwork. Don’t take any chances, all right? This guy is at least forty pounds heavier than you are. And he knows how to use it to his advantage.”
Alex, my teammate and close friend, was my corner man today. He was a great dude overall, but when he got nervous, you could shut him up only by knocking him out cold.
Mauricio, my second corner man, waved him away.
“Alejandro, he knows better than you and I combined. We’ve talked about this already. Ian will give it his all, as he always does.”
He, like me, was a fighter from the Jester Boxing gym.
“Your way out, Raven,” Mauricio said with a crooked grin and put up his fist, which I immediately bumped. “Your way out, Raven.”
His voice, already barely audible, was drowned out by the rumbling roar of drums. Spotlights flashed, cutting through the rising clouds of smoke. These guys knew how to put up a show even if they were in the cartel’s service.
“It’s showtime.”
I threw off my hood. Ignoring the cage door, I hopped on the fence and raised my fists into the air, riling up the crowd. With a backflip, I jumped onto the stage.
On the night of October thirty-first, Mexicans celebrated death, the thread which connected us all. In honor of Día de Muertos, the Sinaloa cartel decided to please the public with a fight between two of its best fighters. And with the fee I had been offered to participate, I would’ve been an idiot to refuse. Hell, I would’ve gone up against this asshole for free.
The audience roared with delight. Having disconnected myself from the atmosphere, I performed the traditional ritual of Thai boxers — ram muay. Kneeling, I let Mauricio take off my mongkon, the headband that had been with me for more than fifteen years since I first entered the professional ring.
“Show him what you’ve got, bro. May the winds keep you safe.”
I could barely hear Mauricio as he took off my headband. Putting it in a bag, he blew lightly on my forehead, observing the tradition.
“Ian, he’s heavier. Don’t let him corner you. Dance around, aim at his legs and groin. His weight and strength are no joke.” Alex ceased worrying and switched to doing what he did best: noticing everything that was happening around us and checking it against the recordings on his tablet. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
“Wanna grab a beer after this?” I asked. “I could use a cold one.”
“Get him!”
The guys raised their fists, wishing me luck. I slowed my breathing, preparing for what would probably be the most difficult fight in my thirty-five years of mixed martial arts.
Detached from the world around me, I looked through the referee, the announcer, and my opponent. It was as if they weren’t there. My world consisted of me and me alone. There was no pain. There was no death. There was only the path. There was only my will. The mantra was simple and effective, and as always, it helped me get rid of all unnecessary thoughts.
“In the red corner, weighing one hundred and ninety-eight pounds, the five-time welterweight champion of the ring, the ruthless fighter whose fists and elbows have broken more than one career, the man worthy of Russia’s cold winters,” I didn’t have to turn around to know that Alex had raised the tricolor flag, adopted as our symbol for the duration of our stay in scorching hot Brazil, “Ian Raven Voronov!”
The audience went wild. I was known and loved for my fighting style, uncompromising and ruthless. I hadn’t suffered a single defeat in the last seven years, no refereeing decisions, only an early stop of a match.
“In the blue corner, weighing two hundred and fifty-seven pounds, the man who has landed more than a dozen of his opponents into a hospital bed, the two-time bare-knuckle champion, this year’s Vale Tudo heavyweight champion, the ruthless A-A-A-A-A-Alligator—”
I wanted only two things: the announcer to shut up and the fight to begin. Rage boiled inside me. I wanted to kill the fucker for injuring my friend in a fight for the heavyweight title. Because of him, Ignat was watching this match from the hospital bed with a broken spine.
“—Daniel Hunt from the US of A!”
A head taller and seriously heavier, Daniel looked at me, grinning, and ran his thumb across his throat. I knew enough English to read the threat off his cracked lips: “You’re fucked. I’ll break you, just like I did your boyfriend.”
Approaching us, the referee recited the standard phrases about accepting and complying with the rules and so on. But neither Daniel nor I cared. We came here with the sole purpose of killing one another. Sliding my palm over my shaved head, I smiled and stared into Daniel’s eyes. A person with weaker nerves would’ve run far away, but he stared right back at me.
Oh, how I wanted to wipe that grin off his face...
The gong sounded in the distance.
We didn’t waste time greeting each other. Like a rhino, Daniel rushed toward me, trying to kill me with a barrage of punches. A thought flashed through my head: “Do you think I’m an idiot?” while my body threw itself out of the line of fire, at the same time driving its shin into Daniel’s thigh.
The dance of death began. My speed allowed me to kick the noticeably stronger Daniel with impunity. However, a single blow of his fist could put an end to this fight.
Hit.
Hit.
I saw my chance and missed his ligament inches from his face. Half turning, I drove my elbow into the back of his head and somersaulted out of the way.
“What the fuck? He didn’t even budge!” I thought, bewildered, as I stared into the whitish haze of Daniel’s eyes. “Fuck! He’s doping. Fucking shit!”
Drugs were drugs, but the body had a margin of safety, and my task was to finish him off before the steroids did. I picked up the pace, ignoring Alex’s and Mauricio’s shouting coming at me from my corner.
I made Daniel eat every punch. At times hitting with all I got and sometimes only feigning to see what he’d do. His reflexes played against him, especially under steroids. Year after year, each of us accustomed himself to the fact that the blow must be either dodged or blocked, which meant wasting energy. And now Dan the Gator was paying in full for every dumb mistake he made.
Suddenly, it was as if a truck hit me in the chest. One missed kick was enough for me to lose my pace. The next moment, Daniel was already trying to throw me out of the ring. Asshole. I fell to my knees, extinguishing the jerk’s energy, and rained down a hail of blows on the back of his head. Ignoring them, Daniel tried to get into a position to break me.
The gong rang somewhere in the distance.
I stopped hitting reflexively, only to unleash another hail when I saw that Daniel wasn’t about to do the same. The referee — a hefty man, clearly a former wrestler — flew in and separated us. I didn’t take much convincing to stop.
“I’ll kill you, you asshole! I’ll tear you up, you bastard! I’ll break your spine like I did your boyfriend’s!” Daniel screamed while he was being taken away, his eyes bloodshot.
“You’re wasting your breath, asshole. I don’t give a shit.”
“What the fuck are you doing, Raven?! Do you have a brain in that thick skull of yours?!” Alex and Mauricio yelled almost in unison.
“Chill. He’s doping. A lot. Ice. Give,” I panted, recovering my breath.
“That bad, huh?” Mauricio turned to Alex as he handed me a bag of ice. “We’re fucked.”
“People are betting on the Gator. They think he’ll wipe the floor with you, bro.”
“We’ll see about that.”
The gong.
The next ten minutes began.
One.
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Two.
Three.
My kicks turned Daniel’s thigh muscles into mush. I got away from a punch aimed at my face. The Gator was rushing at me like a tank, showering me with heavy blows that kept me on my toes. I paid him back in short, hard hits. I landed a high kick on his head, and then I was thrown to the ground. The bastard got a sudden speed boost and was moving like a fucking cobra. A bloody face loomed over me. There was a blow, followed by two more. Daniel used the heaviest punches from his arsenal to beat me from above. I hit back, striking a nerve, and saw his arm go limp.
“Fuck you, you fucking piece of shit. Thank the sambo wrestles for teaching me this trick.”
I stepped forward and smashed his nose with my elbow. An uppercut made his head bounce like a ball.
Hit.
Hit.
I turned him into a beaten piece of meat, refusing to give him a single chance to hit me back. I had to take him down now or I was fucked!
Ignoring all my blows, Daniel, like a fucking zombie, came at me and grabbed me with his arms, trying to crush me.
“Die!” he roared, covered in blood. “Die!”
My vision was slowly darkening. I heard my ribs crack. There was only one thought in my head.
“Kill.”
By some miracle, I managed to pull my right arm out of his grip and ram my elbow into his face. Once. Twice. Three times. Bones crunched...
...and then darkness swallowed me.
***
I woke up standing in an unfamiliar room. My body shifted reflexively into a stance.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
Soft applause disturbed the silence.
“What a performance, what a performance. Welcome, Ian Raven Voronov.” As my eyes cleared, I saw a man in a stylized half mask of a red-faced demon. He nodded at the small cup and teapot standing on the table next to his chair. “Tea?”
“What the fuck is going on? Where am I? And who are you?!”
The situation itself infuriated me. Why the hell would I take a sip of whatever was in that pot? How did I even know that it was tea?
“I have good and bad news, Mister Voronov. Which would you prefer?”
The masked man picked up the cup and took a sip. I glared at him as he sighed and smacked his lips, content with the drink. He was a little shorter than I was, just a smidge under six feet, clad in some kind of oriental costume in red and black tones with a sword at his belt. It was the blade that intrigued me the most. Who the fuck carried around a sword in the twenty-first century?
“What fucking difference does it make?! Just tell me what the fuck is going on here!”
“Things are both very simple and very complicated at the same time. You are dead, Mister Voronov. Those are the bad news.” He took another sip and, observing me, answered the question I hadn’t asked: “Mister Hunt broke six of your ribs, one of which pierced your lungs and heart. But don’t despair! The silver lining is that you won the match. Your elbow split his skull open. Technically, you were still alive when his gray matter spilled all over the ring.”
I stood there in shock, not knowing what to say. I was a corpse, and yet I was standing here — wherever here was — next to a cosplayer drinking tea. Maybe I was hallucinating? Maybe Daniel hit me in the head real hard and knocked me out? I caught my host’s look. He shook his head, like he knew exactly what I was thinking.
“What is this place? Purgatory? And if it is, why the get-up? Last I checked, I was a Christian. Unless the whole religion thing was pure bullshit and the Buddhists were right all along,” I muttered to myself, stringing one question after another, weaving them with incoherent mumblings.
My host raised his head, interrupting me.
“Purgatory?” He thought for a moment, as if tasting the word. “You can say that, yes. But the choice of where you go next is up to you.”
I stood there for a few seconds, digesting the information. The worst thing one could do was make decisions on impulse. I took a deep breath through my nose and exhaled slowly through my mouth. It was a habit of mine with a rather sobering effect, even despite the smile dancing on my host’s face.
“What choice do I have? And what does any of this have to do with you?” I asked, looking straight into his black eyes.
“My name is Daitengu, and I have a suggestion for you.”
“Let me guess, it’s the kind of offer I can’t refuse?”
“Enough.” His voice was almost metallic. “The Heavens decided to give you another chance. According to its laws, your soul should now enter samsara, the cycle of rebirth, but it just so happens that your soul is in tune with mine. And that’s why I can give you a chance to start anew with your memory intact. Interested?”
Daitengu’s eyes now burned with scarlet fire, his gaze penetrating the very essence of my soul. Was he kidding? How could I say no to a second chance at living and fighting with the best of the best, even if it meant that I’d have to start from the bottom?
“Where do I sign? And do I have to do it in blood?” I asked with a wry smile, observing the glowing red eyes.
“Your word will suffice. I won’t be able to bring you back to your world, but I’ll offer you something else. Come with me. Before you decide, you should see your new home.”
With that, Daitengu turned around and gestured for me to follow him.
The next room looked like a small cave, covered from ground to ceiling with luminous crystals. Nestled in the recess in its center was a small pond several inches in diameter. A platform and several steps had been cut into the stone floor, allowing you to stand at the very edge without the risk of falling down. The water was so clear that you could see to the very bottom, at which stood a symbol resembling Yin and Yang, only divided into three parts. Black, white, and red. And the longer I looked at it, the more confident I became that it was something important. So important that everything else seemed trivial compared to this knowledge.
“Look here,” Daitengu’s voice brought me back to reality. “Be quiet and listen. Ask questions later.”
He outstretched his left arm and pulled up his sleeve, revealing his wrist. His hands gave him away as a strong and dangerous fighter. The nail on his index finger grew into a claw as he brought it to his left hand and opened a vein on his wrist with it. Slowly, very slowly. Crimson blood appeared in large drops, merging gradually into a thin stream, and then Daitengu turned his hand over so that the blood flowed into the transparent waters.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
I was fascinated by the sight of heavy drops falling into the pond, by how blood and water clashed, and by how a small ripple diverged around them. I didn’t know at what point the perfect purity of the pond was replaced by a scarlet hue.
“Look!”
The water began to ripple, and I saw the world below as if from a bird’s-eye view. Insanely beautiful mountains, a green wall of forests, the outlines of islands framing the mainland... The pictures shifted at a rapid pace, and a giant wall appeared before my eyes, bigger even than the Great Wall of China. At the foot of this titan sat people dressed in what appeared to be Chinese armor. Some were eating, some were talking, and some were sharpening a variety of weapons.
“Wo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!!!” came the cry of gigantic horns and the picture panned over the wall, showing us what was on the other side.
A horde was moving toward the wall under the roar of drums. Humans, strange green-skinned creatures, hairy naked giants with clubs and hammers in their hands, red-skinned demons, monsters, and various other creatures of nightmares flowed from all sides. And then it looked like someone pressed the fast-forward button.
The monsters started their assault.
The defenders of the wall withstood the onslaught and repelled the attackers. They burned the monsters, struck them with lighting, trapped them in the ground, and sent them flying through the air, sowing death all around, but even so, the price of their victory was high. The corpses were stacked in piles and set on fire.
And then the vision ended.
“What you’ve seen is the world I’m summoning you to. The battle took place ten cycles ago. According to your chronology, that’s... Six hundred years ago.” Daitengu paused for a moment. “The emperor’s forces won, but some clans paid a higher price than others. But that’s not the point. I suggest you go to this beautiful and harsh world. There, you can reach unprecedented heights.”
“And what’s the catch?”
I weighed my options while he talked. If I couldn’t go back into my world, then why wouldn’t I take my rightful place in a new one? These clans couldn’t be worse than the criminal organizations we all knew and loved. And I was no stranger to fights, the ring was only a little different than a battlefield.
“I was an idiot for underestimating Daniel... But I won’t make that mistake again.”
“There’s no catch. You’ll be reborn in a family close to my heart. And you’ll become its heir.” Daitengu’s voice sounded heavy, like he was finding it difficult to talk about this topic, but he continued. “You’ll receive a new vessel: a boy whose body is still very much alive, but whose spirit has, sadly, faded away. Although he was a very talented child, he lacked the strength of spirit and willpower, both of which you have in abundance.”
“And what should I do?”
Thoughts were spinning in my head, forcing me to consider the situation from different angles.
“Live, grow stronger and become the master of the Rings of Power.”
“And what are those?”
“Progress toward being a proper martial artist in this world. That’s all,” Daitengu urged, trying to speed up my thinking process.
A translucent projection of my body appeared in front of me, with a fiery red core flickering in the lower abdomen. Bundles of energy flowed from it in all directions.
“Wait, how do I know what that is? Ah, damn it.”
“Do you see how slowly your core is beating?” I did feel how it was slowing down with each beat. “It’s only a matter of time before it stops completely and your soul enters the circle of rebirth. And here’s your friend...”
Ignat’s projection took shape instead of mine. His core throbbed, but all the cords of energy that stretched to the lower part of his body looked faded, as if they were going out slowly. Rage reignited within me. I wanted to feel that bastard’s face breaking under my blows again.
“If you agree,” Daitengu said in the meantime, “I’ll transfer the rest of your strength to him. It’ll be enough for him to recover and live a full life. But if you don’t last at least three years in the new world, I’ll take it all back.”
“I’ll do it.”
All the doubts, born from rage, were gone. A life for a life. I smiled to myself.
“Live, Ignat. Become a champion in memory of me. I’ll fight for the both of us here.”
***
A small gazebo stood atop the Shining Lotus Mountain. In it, a man in traditional military garb was sitting at a low table. What distinguished him from most of the pilgrim warriors was the coat of arms on the back of his armor depicting the grinning head of a tiger. Two slightly curved blades hanged from his belt. He prepared a brazier, put on a teapot, and placed small cups of the finest porcelain on the table in front of him. Removing the guqin from his back, he began to play a melody, plucking at the strings. A quiet tune flowed from the gazebo, seemingly calling the passersby to join him and listen to his tale.
“You play better every time I see you, brother, but your songs are getting sadder.”
The speaker wore black and red robes decorated with a raven in flight. In one hand, he held several jugs, and with the other, he leaned on a wooden bō. Having put the drinks on the table, he took off the half-mask shaped after the image of the Demon Lord of Hungry Spirits, revealing a face cut with scars, and placed it on the table next to the jugs.
Smiling, the musician allowed himself a moment of silence to get up and greet his friend.
“It’s good to see you,” Raven said and embraced his brother.
“Seems like no one else’s coming,” Tiger noted with sadness in his voice.
“More booze for us then,” Raven replied with a grin.
“No one else responded to the call.”
With these words, a girl entered the gazebo. Clad in beautiful emerald robes adorned with snakes, she looked no older than seventeen springs. Her youthful appearance would fool many, but her eyes spoke of pain and sadness too harsh for her age.
“Spider has finally become the lord of the dark creatures. Rat is satisfied with the current state of affairs, and has created a new clan. Shark will go his own way. And Crimson Star is now the main problem of the clans that killed his children.”
“In that case, let’s drink to the fact that we’re still in the game,” Raven said, his face twisting into a grin similar to the mask he took off, as he poured the wine he brought and gave the cups to his friends.
“You’re too cheerful, brother, which means that someone is in trouble,” Tiger noted sadly.
“What’s important is that it’s not us.” Raven saluted with his cup and, raising it above his head, poured the plum wine into his mouth. “The bets have been placed. All we now have to do is sit and wait.”