“How do you feel about tonight’s fight, Jerry? This is the fight all the fans have been waiting for year round!”
“I’m feeling great Tom, tonight, we are going to witness history. A lot of people are rooting for the youngest rookie this sport has ever seen, a prodigy and a legend in the making. Marcus Callahan has gone undefeated in his first 6 fights and all of them have never gone past the first round. He is a talent that the sport has never seen and if things go the way I think it will, he will be the youngest champion in history.”
“I will admit the kid’s a monster. But I think you’re forgetting something, man.”
“And what’s that?”
“He’s up against Julien Fronterra. He’s up against the greatest of all time.”
The man could hear the crowd roaring, he could hear them chanting his name. He doubted most of them were cheering for him though. He was moments away from perhaps the greatest fight of his life. If he wins this fight, he will become the first fighter to defend two titles simultaneously. He’ll be the undefeated double champ in the lightweight and welterweight divisions. There will not be a single critic in their right mind who could not deny his greatness.
If he’d retired a year ago, he would have already cemented his name as one of the best to ever step in the octagon; but that wasn’t enough for him. But he didn’t want to be “one of”. He wanted to be the One. That name that stands above all else. He’d given his life to the sport and he was going to ensure that he was the one who they’d be talking about years after he died.
He felt light on his feet, bouncing up and down as he stepped out into the open arena. It was deafening yet he simply drowned out all the noise.
Gloves taped. Mouthguard in.
Finally, he steps into the ring. This is where he thrives, this is where he goes to work. Everything passes by in a flash, the only thought in his mind is how fun it’s going to be to smash this boy’s face in.
Finally, the bell rings and all hell breaks loose. Intuitively, both fighters knew this was going to be a slugfest. Even with his opponent’s Olympic wrestling background, Julien was a takedown artist. Going to the ground would not be wise for Callahan. The most effective way to win this was to strike it out and the young challenger was confident he would not lose in that aspect of the fight.
However, his opponent fought like a man possessed. For the first time in his fighting career, Marcus Callahan experienced what it was like to be weak. None of his strikes would land yet all of Julien's did. He could feel each blow through his guard, his eyes trying and failing to read the champ. There was no end to his combination, no tells, nothing he could use to predict what he was going to do next. A right hook, then another one. This is it! There it is! And the challenger falls for it, hook line and sinker. Julien’s fist flies past and narrowly misses Callahan who thinks he has this fight.
A split second later, Julien lands a spinning back elbow to the front of Callahan's face.
The pain is nothing like the rising star has felt before and he crumples to the ground. He can barely keep conscious, let alone get back up. But nothing happens. He can feel the blood dripping down, a nasty cut has opened up but through the red veil; he can make out what has happened. The man is standing over him, grinning from ear to ear. He gesturing with his hand for him to get back up, mocking and belittling him. This is nothing but a game to Fronterra. This is nothing more than a spectacle.
The bell rings and the first round ends, the crowd is going absolutely nuts. Beyond any fighting ability, what Julien Fronterra excelled in was psychological warfare. If it was one thing he loved, the champ loved putting on a show.
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Everything seems to be going well on the surface but Julien can feel it.
Something’s off. All has gone according to plan but there’s…a deep, dull ache in his chest. But the boy has not landed any blows, at least not any that could do real damage. He ignores it. It could just be jitters. Julien tells himself there's nothing at all to worry about because he has this match and he pushes on.
The next round is not any different from the first. The challenger is shaken to his core, humiliated and unable to think straight. At this point, the crowd is going wild as they watch the greatest fighter they will ever see in their lifetime play with his food. Only the sharpest of eyes would have realized that as the fight progressed, the champ was slowing down.
Suddenly, there’s a sharp stab in his chest and Julien stumbles. He must be getting tired, Callahan thinks. That's what the crowd thinks too but Julien knows that something horrible is happening to him and there is nothing he can do to prevent it. His vision blurs, he can feel the shortness of his breath and his limbs feel sluggish. The young challenger does not hesitate to take advantage of the sudden chink he sees in the champ’s armor. He swings wildly, desperate because he knows this is his only chance to win this fight and he lands. Julien’s head flies back and he stumbles, somehow able to remain standing.
Every instinct is screaming at him to fall but he delivers a fierce front kick to drive his opponent back. His heart is failing him. Marcus stops and he wonders why. That’s until he realizes he’s on his knees, his body refusing to listen to his cries for it to continue fighting. The ground rushes up to meet him as he crumples to the floor of the octagon.
The referee jumps in, stopping Marcus from jumping in and finishing him off. He makes an instant decision and waves the fight off. A TKO loss, the first one in Julien Fronterra's perfect professional record. The crowd roars in approval but there’s no sense of triumph in Marcus’ face. Instead, there is…concern. The referee has the same expression and those sitting nearest to the octagon can see it too. The commentators are silent and soon the once-deafening crowd follows suit. Paramedics rush in and the world gradually realizes that this isn’t just a defeat, it’s a tragedy unfolding in real time.
Julien Fronterra lies on his back, staring at the blinding lights above. He could feel it in his bones. He can feel it in his soul that he is about to die. The paramedics yell something he isn't able to make out and he can’t help but let out a little laugh.
Who woulda thunk it? Who would have thought that he’d end up dying in the ring? What better way to go out than doing what he loved?
He felt pride well up inside of him, knowing that he quite literally fought to the bitter end.
He could feel his chest getting tighter, it was getting harder to breathe with each passing second.
Yeah but so what? Don’t get it twisted, Julien Fronterra loved fighting. It was his outlet, his passion and eventually his craft but he knew what he’d truly wanted all along. He wanted to have people he could call his own. He always told himself he’d start a family after this fighting career was behind him; once he’d finally made something of his life. He’d always wanted to be the father he never had. He’d always wanted to come back home, knowing that there would be people waiting for him. To get to the level he had reached in this sport, he’d had to sacrifice all of it. He’d pushed people away. He’d achieved what he’d always set out to do.
In his dying moments, Julien asked himself: was the sacrifice worth it? He’d give it all up for people he could call his own. People who he loved and who, he knew, cherished him the same way.
Tears began to well up in his eyes, sobbing now. It didn’t matter if he went out fighting. He just knew he never wanted to go out alone. Yet, he was aware his time had come and the worst part was that all he could feel was regret. Not joy for what a fruitful life he'd lived, not pride for what he had been accomplished in the short 27 years of his life but regret for the things he knew he could’ve done; held back by his own fears and insecurity.
Finally, his heart beats one final time and Julien Fronterra draws his final breath. He whispers something only he can hear amidst the chaos.
"If there’s a god out there… please…give me another chance. Let me live again. Let me find my people.”
The world fades to black and he can feel nothing. It is a void, endless and empty. Julien can feel himself falling endlessly through the darkness. So this is how death feels like. He thought it would’ve been more painful.
Suddenly, there is a green light that explodes before him and his fall is abruptly halted. Slowly he begins to rise and there is nothing he can do despite the fear rising within him. There are cracks, as if this reality of the afterlife is being forcibly torn open. He should hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing, BE NOTHING. What the fuck was happening? Could he not even rest in peace after death? Was this hell? Punishment for making a living off of hurting people?
He’d never ever felt terror like this even against the most dangerous of human beings. The being that emerged was not human. Julien can barely make out a silhouette, a figure who is obscured in an emerald sheen that seems to emanate around him.
“You want a second chance? Very well. I will watch your progress with great interest…Julien Fronterra. Prove to me you are a worthy investment.” The voice sounds amused. It does not sound human.
With a wave of a hand, his soul that should have been suspended in the abyss; waiting for judgement to the afterlife, begins to ascend. He could feel the resistance, the chains of death that should be untouchable trying to hold him down.
His prayer had been answered.
In a single gesture, he had been granted a second chance.
With that, he was reborn.