Show me what you can do.

“Show me what you can do.” The Master Bellows

I step into the circle. Everyone around me doubts my whole existence. This is my time. This is my home. I cannot lose. Around me is a circle of knives, sharp and imposing they cut my nerves, this is my proving ground. I remove my shirt, the scars of my failures are evident. My pale strong body vividly contradicts the blood on my face and hands.

He steps into my prison. Towering over me with a smirk on his face. The skin that clings to his flesh is immaculate, like those portrayed in the epics of ancient Greece. I can feel the confidence that illuminates his entire form. He is certain of his victory just like everyone around me. He removes his shirt quickly and sharply. I can feel his desire to crush me.

The words slip from the Masters mouth, so quickly and quietly one would think he said it on accident. “Begin.”

There is a roar of excitement, and I can feel my body tighten. He jeers and lunges quickly at me. I side-step away and raise my fists to eye level. The sound bleeds out around me and I am quickly locked into my own world. His shoulder turns only slightly allowing me to anticipate the punch. It is fast and hard, and my hands struggle to keep up, deflecting it to the left. His body immense form gracefully recovers and his second strike I do not see coming, the back of his fist grazes my temple. My eyes close.

The world spins for an instant, the sounds of the crowd return. They think its over.

As my eyes open his leg collides with my floating ribs. They crush as easily as glass, and the wind is taken from me. Blood pools into my mouth uncontrollably. I am choking as my body falls back, and yet I refuse to let it fall. It stumbles weakly from left to right. The next kick comes for my head; he takes me for a weakling, wishing to finish it now. I catch the heavy leg into my shoulder joint; the force cracks my collarbone. I force my overwhelmed body to move and throw a hard elbow into this behemoth’s kneecap. The leg tenses and then goes limp; leaving me with the satisfying sound of pain as the monster jerks his leg away.

He stumbles back stunned. I grasp my shattered side and spit blood at the gap between us. My breathing is forced and my knees are shaking, a smile grows between my cheeks. His face turns stern as he raises his hands again.

He moves at me. The world around me seems funny, a large group of men surrounding a patch of dirt circled by blades. A lone man sits on a lawn chair, yet commands everyone’s respect. This scene is wrong, the night sky dully reflects my thoughts as unseen clouds shift and move. His fist hits me hard in the nose, breaking it in two. More blood pools down my throat. I stumble and thrust my fist out in retaliation. He reacts fast and hard flipping my arm, followed closely by my entire body over his shoulder.

Hitting the ground hard, I collapse. I see his entire body falling toward me, elbow first. His intention is to kill, this man is out for my blood. My mind gathers itself in a split second and I roll, wildly towards the edge of the ring. My arm slams into a blade and I feel a sharp pain. It is ignored and I assume absolute control over my body, forcing it to rise.
The Greek hero, this Achilles archetype, quickly recovers from the ground. His confidence has returned as he sees my bodies damaged condition. I am his opposite I look more like a Russian mobster than a hero. Scars and tattoos covering a bland and ghostly form. The sight of dark blood covering this gaunt shell is unsettling. Anyone watching this fight would think that I am the bad guy… that I should lose. It’s always been like that with me, my whole fucking life.
The crowd is still jeering Achilles on. Yet I can tell the master is watching me. Now it’s my turn. I spit my blood at the hero, my fist flying forward. This insanity puts him off and my fist connects hard with his cheek. He recovers quickly, throwing an upper cut towards me. I throw my arm into his, recklessly and I feel the pain of bones colliding. Sharp jolts of pain resonate from my arm to my spine. His arm jerks back clutching it to his side. Pain no longer fazes me, and I don’t let up on my onslaught. I throw my fists hard and fast at every opening I can find. His reflexes are strained and my third punch connects. This one hurts him, I see his eyes close and his knees teeter. He throws his foot wildly, and hits me directly in the stomach. Gasp for air.
At this point, my body is entirely out power. Yet I don’t flinch, I refuse to let anyone see my weakness. The blood in my mouth pushes its way out, and runs down my chest.
Achilles stumbles backward, and I walk into another desperate punch. My face breaks and I throw my elbow blindly. I don’t know exactly what I hit but it brings my heroic foe to his knees. My daze ends and I watch as my opponent tries to raise himself to the ground. This is it.

The crowd had stopped cheering. The Master was standing. Everyone knew, everyone but this mythical Greek god. The best of the best was about to fall to the weakest one.

I jump forward with my knee jutting out. It slams hard into my opponent’s skull. I can feel his body go limp.

He hits the ground as I land.

Standing in this circle of pain, this horrible testing ground, I feel at home. This is where I can show them that I am stronger. That it is not all technique and conditioning. That in reality a fight is won with raw will. They quiet as I breathe in and out. Everything seems so hard, breathing, standing, and living. I turn and face the only one that matters. He looks me in the eyes and nods. He tells me without words.

He knew the outcome as soon as I entered the ring.
I walk from the ring as the others clear a path.
The looks on their faces tell me that they just saw the antichrist best the savior.
I am all right with that.
I collapse into a sitting position and finally rest.