Bruno and Javohir emerged from a dimly lit corridor, stepping into the vibrant fighting pit. Torches adorned the walls, casting a radiant orange glow that illuminated the arena. Soft, melodic tunes drifted through the air, blending with the murmurs of the vast crowd gathered above, perched atop towering walls.
Beneath their feet, the sand felt cold, its surface marred by traces of blood, remnants of a previous clash. For Bruno, the rhythmic beats of the drums and the familiar strums of the harp were not entirely foreign. However, the harmonious fusion of unfamiliar string and wind instruments stirred a sense of intrigue within him. In contrast, Javohir recognized each instrument with ease, his familiarity transcending borders.
The melody carried a whimsical quality more suited for a graceful belly dancing performance than the brutality of a fight—yet, it resonated with the lighthearted atmosphere above, where guests reveled in merriment, indulging in food and drink.
"And now, the two new faces. One, another helpless lad whose path led him to our arena, and the other, an outsider from distant lands," proclaimed Uncle Said, his voice beaming with emotions, yet resonating with unwavering clarity.
Their attention locked on the impending fight, both boys scarcely registered Uncle Said's words, their focus honed on the opportunity for a better life—an opportunity they had been explicitly told awaited them within the arena's unforgiving embrace.
For Javohir, that was the extent of it. But for Bruno, this presented a potential means of escape, a glimmer of hope to reunite with Billy and reclaim his freedom. Winning became his sole pathway, the only means to secure his release.
Silently, they parted ways, circling the periphery of the pit, until finally converging at the center, their guards raised in anticipation.
"Take a good look, generous patrons, and you, greedy bastards, place your bets," Uncle Said chimed in, a sly smirk curling upon his lips.
The arrival of new contenders always enticed those who relished in risk-taking, enticing them to wager sizable sums in hopes of a substantial payoff. It was a sight that Uncle Said relished, knowing that a portion of those bets would invariably find its way into his own pocket.
A cluster of onlookers crowded around the pit's edge, their gaze fixated on the two combatants below. Eagerly, some pushed their way through the people, vying for attention from the collectors, their hopes hinged on a stroke of luck.
As the two adversaries stood on the verge of collision, they paid little heed to the clamor surrounding them. Their attention locked solely on each other, their bodies taut with tension. The palpable rivalry between them was unmistakable, evident to any observer—an atmosphere that, once again, boded well for the thriving business of the arena.
"You did a good job, Mamadou. You railed them nicely," Uncle mumbled to himself, his gaze fixed downward.
Then, with a commanding gesture, the man raised his hand—a signal for the half-naked, muscular man stationed by a colossal gong to strike it. As Uncle's hand descended, a resounding clang reverberated through the arena, igniting a cacophony of cheers and laughter.
In a burst of adrenaline, Javohir surged forward, leaping into action. As he landed, he unleashed a powerful punch, intent on overwhelming his opponent in a swift onslaught. Aware of the futility of retreating, Bruno advanced, lowering his center of gravity and launching a wide swing, targeting his friend's ribs. But Javohir, ever vigilant, evaded the blow with a deft twist of his body, promptly retaliating. Yet, Bruno's agility allowed him to evade the strike with swift reflexes.
This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
Amidst the frenzy, a few enthusiastic hype men, cleverly mingled among the guests, bellowed loudly, their voices fueling the excitement and engaging the audience even further.
The lightning-fast exchange halted as abruptly as it had begun, the young combatants creating a brief distance between them before slowly closing in once more, their circling dance intertwining with their intent gazes. The tension and focus permeated the spectators above, rendering the festivity momentarily hushed and contemplative.
Javohir, relying on his physical prowess, charged forward once more, seeking to seize an advantageous opening. A series of jabs followed, lacking in power but serving to gauge the distance. Bruno attempted to evade the onslaught, but his relentless friend pursued, effectively blocking any escape route. It became evident that Javohir aimed to corner Bruno against the wall, intending to unleash a relentless barrage of punches—a repetition of his previous moments of triumph. However, this time, a subtle shift had occurred. Gone was the previous recklessness, which was the key to success.
Several swings later, the wall loomed perilously close, its presence palpable to Bruno. The tempo accelerated, and Javohir's stamina waned, yet his persistence signaled an imminent success in executing his strategy.
"Get him!" a voice boomed from above.
"Punch him in the face!"
"Yeah!"
As the exhortations reached Bruno's ears, his back made contact with the unyielding wall. Fear of being trapped and subjected to an onslaught of blows struck him, sparking a surge of ingenuity within his brilliant mind. Suddenly, the voices from above faded into a distant hum. His senses sharpened, attuned to the rough texture of the bricks against his skin, just as he keenly felt the cold sand slipping between his toes.
The air was thick with a blend of smoke, alcohol, and the pungent stench of sweat, assaulting his nostrils. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, his racing heart exerting tremendous pressure, the pulsating thud resonating in his head.
Javohir stood directly in front of him, his proximity leaving no room for escape. The weight shifted onto the boy's left foot, a telltale sign that a powerful strike with his right fist was imminent. The intensity etched on Javohir's face left no doubt that he was committed to his chosen course.
‘I must evade his blow, guide him into the wall, seize his momentary surprise, and deliver a finishing strike to his liver, before launching a hook straight to his exposed chin,’ Bruno strategized within himself.
With the plan firmly set, his body poised to execute. Time, which had seemed to crawl just moments before, suddenly returned to its normal pace. Javohir's fist propelled through the air, aimed directly at Bruno's face. Swiftly, Bruno sidestepped, causing the boy's hand to collide with the unyielding wall. The sound of bones snapping accompanied Javohir's anguished scream. Seizing the opportunity, the young alchemist leaned forward, lowering his center of gravity, and unleashed a single forceful strike to Javohir's liver.
A groan escaped the boy's lips as pain enveloped him, causing him to curl, inadvertently exposing his chin. Bruno seized the moment, exerting all his strength from his legs to propel himself forward, delivering a decisive blow to Javohir's exposed chin, and sending him sprawling onto his back. As the boy collapsed, a flurry of sand burst around him, leaving him senseless.
The crowd erupted in thunderous cheers, largely fueled by the hidden hype-men among the spectators. It took Bruno a few seconds to fully comprehend his victory, and in the next instant, a sharp pain surged through his right hand. The impact had taken its toll on his fist, but he fought to conceal the discomfort, standing like a statue, uncertain of how to react.
"My dear guests, we have a winner," announced Uncle Said once the cheers subsided to a murmur.
Javohir suddenly awoke, jolting upright and fearfully crawling backward before realizing the fight had been lost. Observing this, Bruno cautiously stepped forward, extending a hand in silence to assist his friend in rising.
"What a fight, my dear guests, what a fight! Short, yet brimming with action and surprises! Just imagine what awaits us from these young boys in the future!" Uncle Said exclaimed, his voice filled with excitement.
Still nursing his injuries, Javohir grasped Bruno's offered hand, pulling himself back to his feet. The young alchemist then accompanied him off the arena, a silent show of camaraderie amidst the lingering pain.