7/2 - BlackRock prison - battle arena - morning

The arena fills with the sound of a crowd cheering us on, encouraging us to beat the hell out of the other. Running in front of him, his arm reaches out for me. Too easy. I move behind his arm, diving under it a second later. Standing in front of his gut, I land three-five punches with a single fist. Aware of his hands, I get away from him.

“Pain in the ass! Stay still!”

“Come, work them legs, big guy.”

Big guys like this have endurance on their side, meaning they’re not going down in a couple of hits. I have to wear him out, then get that sweet decisive hit in. Until then, quick hits to that gut and a few to the knees will do.

“Right, let’s get to work.”

Diving back in, he reacts slower than I expected. He swings his arm, but I can dodge it in my sleep. Kicking in his knee, he buckles for a moment. Four punches and an uppercut follow, too swift for him to handle. I jump back before he can catch me.

“Come on, big guy. Is that all you got?”

“Little shit! I’ll show you!” Already reaching his limit, he pulls off the pole strapped to his back. It’s about a foot wide, probably able to cover a range of 2 meters instead of 5; math was never my thing. If that hits me, I can kiss this match as good as over. “Here I come!”

All it takes is one giant step to get me in his range. Shit, he’s already swinging! Backing up is not gonna help, I need to go low! The pole almost grazes my back, touching my uniform by the skin of my teeth. Bison uses his momentum to spin himself. The pole is coming around again, vertical on approach. I jump out of the way, only for him to grab me. Shit, I messed up! He lets out the roar of a caveman; he throws me at the wall. Flesh slamming against metal rings in my ears. Intense pain surges through my back, aching like a bitch and a half.

"Damn! Proxy just got thrown like he was a piece of trash! Now that the Bison is using his pole, what will he do!?”

Biting back against the grueling pain, I force myself onto my feet. “Don’t count me out yet.”

“Wow, even after that, he’s still ready to go!”

“Here I come, you brat!”

No use overthinking this. I just can’t get hit by that thing, simple. He swings that piece of junk. I step forward, ducking under the pole. Not yet, he’s going to go for another hit, like last time. I attempt to move away. Right when I’m about to leave his range, the pole extends, becoming a meter longer. It’s gonna hit!

"There you have it, gentlemen! He’s extending his weapon! What we’ve been waiting for. Is Proxy gonna die, or is he gonna be let off with a major beating!?"

Shit, too close. Barely dodged, but it cut open my forehead. Nothing serious, a bit of blood is leaking out. I’d say it’s cool, but blood getting in my eye sucks.

"Wanna give up, kid? Cause from here on out, it’s only gonna be painful.”

“Shut up. Besides, why would I wanna quit? If you ask me, you’re the one who should quit.”

“You ain’t as tough as you think.”

“Then I'd say the same is true for you.” I walk closer to him, worrying little about that club of his. “...I’m not scared of you, or that weapon of yours. Fact is, I think you’re not even worth my time, so hurry and make a move.”

The Bison growls, mimicking a dog ready to bite someone's arm off. "Don't make fun of me!"

He threw his pole overhead. Catching it, aiming to smash it against my head. Obviously, I rolled out of the way, missing the body-crushing blow. Now’s my prime-time opportunity! I jump on the club, leaping off of it to drop kick this idiot’s head. Both my feet rock his head back and forth.

"Proxy was able to deliver a blow to The Bison's head! Can this attack turn the tables?"

No, but it's a start. I flip my body around, making sure my feet are pointing at the ground before I touch it. The moment I landed, I rush back in before he can recover. I kick his knee again, crushing the cap beneath my foot. The sound of the bone grinding up against my foot, like when you crunch on some cereal. I keep hitting his knee, kicking harder to increase the damage.

The Bison howls, belting out his lungs.

"He went for his knee!"

When fighting a bigger opponent, reaching for their head is a no-go, and hitting their chest is useless since they're likely gonna tank it. To anyone else, this fight would be suicidal. However, there’s one thing people neglect: everything below the waist. Hitting him in the balls, knee caps, even his shin is going to force them to their knees. So the best thing to do is weaken their knees by hitting them over and over until they wanna call it quits.

Getting in one last hit, I back off, keeping him from grabbing me. Hit and run tactics work like a charm against these, especially when they telegraph their attacks.

"Stop running, you little bastard!"

"I’m here fighting you. You’re just too slow, that and brain dead.”

"Just shut up!"

“Come on, I just wanna talk to you… Don’t tell me, you’re shy!?”

“Be quiet it!”

“Oh my god, you are. I can totally see you blushing. So cute.”

Shut up, you little shit!”

He screams out his rage, a volatile, dangerous rage that seems to consume all rational thought in his head. Blind from his rage, he throws his weapon at me, spinning across the air. Perfect. I easily sidestep the attack. Metal stabbing into metal creates a distorted sound that dulls my hearing a bit, but I play it cool.

"Unbelievable! The Bison threw his weapon at Proxy, who dodged it in the nick of time!. Now it’s stuck in the wall!"

The realization of his mistake dawns on him, making a stupid face that makes it even sweeter.

“Not too bright, aren’t you? But hey, it’s not your fault that your brain is small.”

Reaching the peak of his rage, he let out a visceral scream. I cover my ears since it’s messing with my eardrums. Like a beast lost in its rage, he charges for me, swinging his arms every which way. He swings his arms at me. Each strike after the other is predictable, lacking rhythm or reason behind them. I think he’s really gonna kill me if he gets his hands on me.

He joins his hands together to bring them down on me. He ends up hitting the ground right after I moved out of the way. I hop off his balled-up hands. The look of rage turns to disbelief. Not being able to accept that I’m about to hit him again. A single heavy kick to the head is all it takes for him to fall backward. For the finishing blow, I drive my fist into his face, sandwiching his head against the ground and between my knuckles.

“Ready to go to sleep.”

Before he can utter a word, I stomp his face with my foot, breaking his nose under the weight of my foot. His eyes roll back into his head as his mouth gaps. Blood trickles out of his nose. It’s over…

"Did…this kid actually beat him!? DAMN! Unbelievable! Let's do the countdown, just in case. Starting from 5! 5…4…3…2…1…0! Gentlemen, we have our winner: Proxy!"

Not a peep, even the air goes dead in this metal-clad arena… Okay, now this is awkward… Seriously, do I have to break it? Fine, whatever.

“Oh, yeah! I’m the winner, baby! Go me!” Nothing…just nothing. “Hey, will you bastards cheer for me!?”

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Immediately, they start booing me. Every row, everyone is insulting me left and right, saying that the fight was rigged and all that shit.

“Don’t blame me for you having shit gambling skills, you stupid sons of bitches! Wanna fight me, bring it!”

Well, at least they aren’t looking down on me. If they’re hating on me, then that means I showed them what’s what.

"This isn't over, you imp!”

All the hairs on my body stand up at the same time. I turn to see the Bison ramming me. My sense didn’t go off since I’m aware of him. I just didn’t have the time to evade! He slams me against the wall, nearly crushing the organs inside me. He wails on me, beating me with one hand while the other pins me. Blocking is doing nothing. It still hurts like hell. If this keeps up, he’ll crush me to death!

"Just die, you little bastard!"

Shit, not good, not good…! Huh? Why didn’t the next punch come? Opening my eyes, someone caught his fist right when he was going to hit me again.

"I think that's enough. You lost. But you don’t look like you’re gonna listen, so...”

Gil goes for a high kick. It was a form-perfect kick, even I couldn’t see it coming, and it wasn’t even that fast. The Bison’s head rattles from the kick, juggling his pea-brain. Topping it off, he delivers a straight punch to his chest. The blow, again, wasn’t that fast, but he blew him back. He lands on his large back and a thud sound echoes… That’s it? He beat him just like that!?

Gil leaves his fighting stance, wiping sweat off his brow. “That takes care of that… Sorry about that. He’s a bit of a sore loser."

“No…problem…”

My head is pounding. I can’t think straight, let alone see right. Shit, he did more damage than I thought… I can't keep awake. The last thing I hear is my body falling to the ground on the hard dirt floor.

…

The audience continues to show their disapproval of the fight, insulting Proxy as he’s carried out by the king. Despite the insurmountable odds, he was able to beat his foe. I’m glad he could. He doesn’t seem to be the kind of person to let such a thing go.

Chip sinks to the bottom of his seat, staring at the ceiling in a daze. "Damn, guess I got no sense in betting. Thought I had this one in the bag."

"I told you there was potential in him."

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. This is what I deserve and all that junk, right?

“Not at all. You are free to bet on whoever you like. However, I do find it distasteful to bet on such battles, or any in general.”

Chip lets out a dry chuckle. “So you’re one of those folks, huh? I guess I understand, but I don’t care either way. Why not make money off idiots who’ll fight over the tiniest thing?”

“That’s quite cruel.”

“Yeah, but that’s how it is for guys like us. Besides, looks like I was an idiot today, so what do I know?”

In one light, his words are cruel, missing compassion for his fellow man. It’s a horrible view to have, but it seems more so to do with another reason, less than it does for a lack of empathy. I met men who could care less for the lives of others. He does not seem to be that type of person. Perhaps it is from the intuition of my gut, yet I can’t say I do not believe in it.

“I’m leaving…”

“Wait for me.”

“Why do you wanna be around me?”

“Because I don’t have friends in here, and it was fun being around you and Proxy.”

“Seriously?”

“Is that an issue?”

Chip sucks his teeth, keeping his attention from me. "Do whatever, but don't go acting like we're friends, kay?"

"Okay, but aren't we?"

"No!"

BlackRock - Gilhart’s room - afternoon

My head feels comfy, like I'm lying on an angel's lap. Pain floods my senses as I open my eyes. Whatever I'm laying on is doing the trick because the pain doesn't even bother me.

Actually, where am I? I'm laying on a king-sized bed with a large fancy purple sheet with a gold outline layered on top of me. Looking around, there's only a drawer next to me and a chair at my bedside. This room looks like a normal room, except for the king-sized bed. The vanilla white color of this room gives off a warm, comforting feeling.

"Um, hello?"

Figured no one would-- Hm? Footsteps? Walking into view, Gil is the one to appear. He's holding a tray with food and some water.

"You're up? How are you feeling?"

"I'm doing good. My head is pounding like a jackhammer."

"Jack-hammer?"

"Nothing, forget about it."

He takes a seat next to me. "Here, this is yours."

"What about the food there?"

"That's mine. You want it?"

"What if I do?"

"No way, it's mine. We can fight for it though."

"Yeah, that's a losing battle..."

"Then--"

"...For you, that is. I'll beat you and eat my fill!"

Gil stares at me, vacant in expression. Then, he just starts laughing like a madman. "That was kinda funny, Man. You got any more?"

Did he actually find that funny or is he just messing with me?

"Well, since I'm not looking for a fight right now, I'll just take this."

I take the plate from his hands. On it, a slab of steak, steaming hot and with some sauce blanketed on it, mixing in with the aroma of freshly made steak… Did I die during the fight and go to heaven? If so, thank you, God!

"Are you crying?"

Oh, crap! Got too emotional!

"N-no, of course not! Thanks for the food!"

From a single bite, the texture is exquisite, releasing a juicy flavor that sits well on my tongue. The warm sensation of it going through my throat into my stomach feels so good! Between this and the bed, I really am in heaven! This place rocks!

"Seems like you're enjoying the food."

"Yes...so very much!"

"Then you'll enjoy this."

Gil tosses something on my lap. Looks like a credit card.

"What's this?"

"That right there is a credit card. Cool, right!?" From his goofy grin, I don't have the heart to tell him it isn't. "These are given out when you win your first fight. But since yours was made today, and I forgot to give it to you, I decided to do it today."

I took the card off my lap. It has a Raccoon-looking thing mascot with wings on the front of the card. This is kina…

"Cute...”

"Really?" No, shit! I didn’t mean to say that out loud! Now he’s gonna think I’m weird or something! “...Thanks, I was trying to make it that way.” Or maybe not. And hold up, he made it...? Hmm, not bad, the cartoony appearance fits well.

"You got talent. You know, I'm something of an artist myself."

His eyebrows widen, amazed by my talent. "You're an artist, too!?"

"Course. I'd show you my artwork, but I don't have my red book with me."

"You have a book of your art?"

"Yeah, it's like signature tags for my work."

"I see. Maybe I should do one myself?"

"Do it, it's super fun."

"Alright, if you say so!"

We had a bit of fun talking about designs for an art book for a little while. Been a while since I've been able to talk art with anyone, so it's a good way to help me recover.

"...Anyway, back to the card. On there, it has a total of 25,000 CCP. I guess I should explain what that means. When you won your first fight, you won about 5,000 CCP to start. You get 5,000 whenever you win a fight. If you lose, you only gain 500, and this doesn’t include the first fight."

I'm guessing anything below 1,000 CCP is like flaunting around a dollar while something like 25,000 CCP is like $25… My math might suck, but if I won two fights so far, that means I only earned about 5,000 CCP for both. Adding both of them should sum it up to 10,000 CCP.

"Wait, if I won the other match, shouldn't I be at 10,000 CCP?"

"Ordinarily, but when I sponsor fights, the reward for the winner is increased by 20,000 CCP."

"Isn't that a lot?"

"Not really. It's a great reward if I say so myself. Besides, it's rare for me to be out of my room."

"You a shut-in?"

“For a couple of reasons, I am, but…”

He heads out of the room for a bit, returning with a piece of paper in hand.

"Here, look."

Let’s see what we got here. Looks like a comic sketch, and the funny raccoon thing. It’s unfinished, but it looks relatively fine.

"I began working on lots of these. I made a few about the Carbuncle from on the card."

So that thing is a Carbuncle? What is a Carbuncle even?

"This is my latest work. I was working on the name, but they never come to me as clearly as the drawings do."

A title is hard to do, mainly because you don't want it to sound stupid. But how hard can it be in this case? Just gotta flex my creative muscles. Hmm… Got it!

"How about you name it… Carbuncle's misadventures!"

"That’s it! Simple, but a brilliant name for something like this. Let's go with that."

"Glad to hear it. So, are you going to color in the panels?"

"I’m not good at coloring in stuff. When I edge near the outline of a character or object, I get too nervous and mess up."

Ah, painting jitters. I understand all too well. When I started out, my hands would shake like crazy. Heh, feels like yesterday.

"Then you should let me color it. I’m pretty good at painting stuff."

"You'd do that?"

"Yeah, I just need the tools to do it."

"They're in my work area, but I think you should rest up first."

"Nah, I'm fine, see."

I jump out of bed, standing on my two feet. It still hurts to move but it isn't back-breaking, so it’s fine, mostly.

"Alright! Let’s go then!"

He rushes out of the room, giddy like a kid who wants a new game. For a big guy, he sure can run. I thought he was going to be like one of those lazy cool guys who take nothing seriously, but I guess judging a person based on tropes is kind of rude. Besides, I’m not exactly the one to talk… Aw, who cares? I’m gonna take my mind off things and have some fun.