His thick, rosy, bulbous cheeks were the tell-tale result of a life lived of overindulgent tendencies. His perfectly round spectacles added an air of cunning to his demeanour. He was at the top of the food chain. The Alpha Dog. Shabz – the Greatest entertainer in the world. The creator of all fighting spectacles. Trainer and Manager of the current champion. He was the King and this was his throne room. He looked down upon his magnificent Island, from within the comfort of his penthouse, at the final preparations being made. The grand Fighting Arena was almost complete, and the groundstaff were ensuring all was in order. Whatever the result, the money Shabz stood to gain would be a sizeable chunk. Afterall, which of these low life’s could stand against the current champion. Shabz had become a legend in his own mind, and was blissfully deaf to the savage background sounds coming from the room behind him…The Champions “Training” room.
Voice 1:“Feel the burn…burn the feeling.” *Whip*
Voice 2: “RICH!!” *whip*
Voice 1: “Feel the burn…burn the feeling” *whip*
Voice 2: “Beast!!” *whip*
…The exact same phrases and sound of a harsh bull-ship crackling into human flesh continued for hours.
Shabz had forged a monster from the depths of hell itself, completely void of all pain. 4 months of intense conditioning, and the champion would be his very own Frankenstein. The boat with the 7 guest fighters soon came into sight. Shabz sipped on a glass of red wine, a grin devoid of all humanity etched into the contour lines of his face, knowing in truth that the fate of those to arrive was set in stone.
~
Young Habaz hopped off the small row boat. A gentle stranger had freely agreed to commandeer him to the island. Though he did seem a little afraid of Habaz for some reason. People always seemed to be disillusioned into thinking Habaz would snap in a haze of violent fury if a request was refused. Personally, he believed he was one of the kindest guys there was around.
He had missed the main ship which the other fighters caught, and was quite visibly upset though. Habaz was often upset. He then proceeded to walk up to the great arena, which was said to be atop the one and only mountain on the small island. As he made his gradual way up to the apex of the mountain, the air became difficult to breath and stung his lungs.
He was the last of the seven fighters to arrive. There was quite a congregation surrounding most of the fighters, though the fighters themselves seemed in a world of their own – calm and focussed. A tall, very dark man seemed to be dancing elegantly with ear phones in his ears.
A muscular, short Asian man was bathing a smaller Asian man in a nearby lake with greater than normal attention to detail.
An overly fat man and a muscular tall man were kneeling in front of a dishevelled looking hobo, who was holding and gently caressing a cat in his arms. The Fat man was also surrounded by people wearing McDonalds work-wear and offering up cheeseburgers to the fat man to consume, a sentiment which he contently obliged.
These were the best the world had to offer?!
“Bunch of Weirdos! The lot of em’” Spat Habaz, completely disgusted. He was getting upset again. These fighters were a joke. Only two among the seven seemed like they belonged, apart from Habaz himself of course who made three. A tall, thin man with a serious glint in his eye and the number “23” on the back of his singlet. And then him…
The Former Champion. Prasadh “Angada Angada” Mohanadhasan. He was sitting cross legged. Alone, not a supporter in his midst. His eyes burned with a fire Habaz understood too well. The familiar giant Carrot insignia on his jacket gave away his identity to onlookers who spoke in excited and hush whispers. Habaz would be honoured to fight either of these two fighters, but the rest disgusted him. Where was the current champ though?! Habaz was upset.
“Welcome…Acclaimed Fighters from across the globe. Thank you for agreeing to participate in my tournament. It is time for the draw, to find out who your first opponent will be.” Bellowed Shabz from the nearby Speaker. The Fighters arose as if out of a deep slumber…It was time.
~
Each was to pick a numbered ball from a cubic enclosed box when called upon. Vinnie was nervous, but excited. His training with Saralax and the Cat Sage had prepared him to achieving the best possible outcome, but what if his opponent was the mighty Saralax himself? Only fate would decide though.
The small stadium crowd consisted of only the wealthiest in the world. While the event was televised world-wide, only the world’s best were invited by Shabz to experience his tournament live. And gamblers everywhere were keeping a close eye on the draw to define the odds.
A portly Announcer stepped up to a Cubic box. “When I Call your name, step up and pick your ball. That will have a number upon it which will dictate who and when you fight. Mr Balboa!” He Said.
Vinnie was first. “Dammit!” he cursed to himself. He walked up to the announcer and put his hand in to feel out the contents of the cube. He pulled out a Ball. #3 stared back at him.
Saralax drew # 6, much to Vinnie’s relief as only the Finals would force their confrontation. The Champion was still missing but drew #8 – He would be the last fighter in round 1. Vinnie was, yet again, the first to be matched up with an opponent. The tall, Dark Dancer drew #4. He wore a white suit and a single white glove on his right hand.
“Hee hee hee. You’re gonna be hit by…your gonna be hit by…a Smooooth Criminal” Sang Adusius Banderias, pointing his white gloved index finger at Vinnie. For that moment, Vinnie Balboa transformed the man he used to be – Simple-minded and hot-headed.
“Uhh…I don’t think so… you Bastard!” he said as he quickly closed the gap between them and took a wild hook at Adusius. However, the Black bird poetically danced right around the Hook.
“She told me her name…was Vinnie Jean; as she caused a scene”, Adusius continued singing, “People always told me be careful of what you do , And don’t go around breaking young girls’ hearts”.
“What did you call me! I Ain’t no woman!” Roared Vinnie Balboa, before completely getting consumed with white hot rage. Next thing he remembered was being completely subdued by the full weight of Saralax pinning him down.
“Hee hee hee…” Sang Adusius as he moonwalked off, fully aware of the moral victory of getting under his opponents skin.
Tension was all over the area now. With all the numbers now drawn, things were getting interesting.
Habaz was getting upset again at his opponent. His fists were clenched, and he started towards the Asian man who had clearly been mouthing off.
“Look here you Bastard! I don’t have any interest in bathing your little brother. I don’t know where that deranged thought came into that little pee-wee head of yours – but you best abandon it” said Habaz vehemently. Papa Geppi brandished the towel he had previously used to dry off his brother.
The Little brother looked on teary eyed at his older brother trying so hard to defend the honour and right of bathing him. “I bathe my Brother. Me and only me! I saw you eyeing us in the lake, but the only way you can bathe my brother…is if you go through me…” retorted Papa Geppi.
Habaz had limited patience for delusional fools. He was the first in line to fight, and why waste an unnecessary build up to a pre-determined result. He pulled out a bottle of malt liquor, and took a big deep swig. His eyes grew red, his speech slurred. But his drunken movements were poetic, and purposeful. Geppi was annihilated in a single unstoppable blow.
The first victim of the tournament had fallen before it even began. Papa Geppi was knocked into a coma and his brother lay weeping into his towel…
Throughout the drama…only one man remained stoic. The former Champion.
For his very first match, was a chance at redemption…
Up Next: An Origin Story – Prasadh Angada and the Amazonian Women of Eastwood