Chapter 6 — "Recognized"

📕👉 Read Chapter 5 Here

Firefly was used to being on his toes, but tonight, he was dancing more than ever. It was his first fight in the Championship League, up against opponents he’d never met before. These fighters weren’t just throwing punches to look good for the crowd—they were here to win. But so was he.

The crowd was louder during these matches, and even though it was early in the night, their energy was electric. They craved great fights and impressive Ink Fighting, and each match delivered, regardless of the fighters' ranks. Junior was starting at the bottom, but he was determined to change that tonight.

His opponent, a projectile Ink Fighter with the call sign "Slingshot," had been beaten many times by others. He kept Firefly dodging throughout the first round, summoning rock-like projectiles from the giant slingshot sigils tattooed across both arms.

The bell dinged, signaling the end of the first round. Firefly went to his corner and sat on the stool his assigned coach had brought him. They’d only met right before the match, but Mr. Green had assured him the coach was one of the best.

“What are you doing out there, kid? You look like you’re running scared.” The coach injected a syringe into Firefly’s leg, and he felt the renewed karma surge into his dimming sigils, which he’d been using just to stay out of the path of Slingshot’s projectiles.

“I wanted to see what he could do.” Firefly took a swig of water. The short, mustached coach shook his head. “I’m a new opponent. I wanted to see how he’d react.”

“Do you always size up your opponents like this?” The coach muttered, wiping his own sweat with a towel.

Firefly grinned at his coach’s concerned expression. It was time to get serious.

He’d been nervous at first, walking into the ring and seeing the size of the crowd, sizing up his snarling, older opponent. But as the first round progressed, Firefly loosened up. His sigils could do more with less karma as he let himself blend into the rhythm of the ring, the hum of the karmastry lights, and the energy of the crowd. He’d been observing Slingshot, figuring out his movements, and now he knew what to do.

Slingshot was overzealous, unpopular, and low-ranked. He was trying to overwhelm Firefly with brute force to prove he belonged. But Firefly had something to prove, too, and he wasn’t going down easily.

The whistle blew, and his coach left him, locking the cage door behind him. As soon as the bell rang, Slingshot activated his oversized sigils, pulling back the ink slingshot on his right arm to fire at Firefly, unleashing a volley of sharp projectiles.

Firefly dodged again, but this time he didn’t circle the ring’s edge. Instead, he summoned fire into his sigils and zigzagged across the arena, weaving left and right, closing in on Slingshot.  

“Oh no, you don’t!” Slingshot snarled, pumping more energy into his sigil and shooting an arc of projectiles in a semi-circle, blocking Firefly’s path.

“Hmph!” Firefly launched himself into the air with a fiery explosion, the projectiles just missing his legs as he flipped over them and landed right in front of Slingshot.

Trapped with his back against the chain-link wall, Slingshot cursed, stumbling. Firefly could hear the spectators in the front row.

“Kill him, Firefly! You’ve got him pinned!” one man shouted.  “Blast him! NO MERCY!” another bellowed.  Slingshot tried to escape, but Firefly kept him in place, scooting his left foot and summoning a small wall of fire.  

“Dammit!” Slingshot muttered, off-balance.

Smirking, Firefly spun on his toes, preparing a flaming kick. But as his leg shot forward, it collided with something hard. Slingshot had managed to block the kick with the wooden part of his inky slingshot sigil. It felt solid against Firefly’s leg.

“You thought it’d be that easy?” Slingshot snarled, eyes wild. “You think you can just waltz in here and beat me?”

Firefly wasn’t listening. He twisted and switched legs, sending a second kick to the other side of Slingshot’s head. The older fighter wasn’t quick enough this time—his hand raised too late, and Firefly’s foot connected with his temple.

A burst of blue fire shot into the air as the kick landed with a satisfying crack. Slingshot’s sigil wavered, and he crumpled, rolling across the ring before landing face-down. He wasn’t out cold, but he was struggling to rise.

The referee began the countdown, and Slingshot raised his hand weakly in a half-hearted attempt to stand.

“No, no, I’m done,” Slingshot huffed.

The referee blew his whistle, walking over to Firefly and raising his arm in victory. He had won his first match. The crowd erupted in cheers, clapping and laughing at Slingshot’s defeat. Even if it was only a win against the lowest rank, the exhilaration still washed over Firefly. The cheers and praise filled him, and he was addicted to the sound.

Somewhere in the crowd, he heard high-pitched shrieking that he recognized as his mother. Looking up, he spotted her in the VIP booth—the same one he had been in just a few weeks earlier. She was leaning over the edge, with Mr. Green holding onto her arm to keep her from falling. Firefly squinted, thinking he saw the hotel owner smiling.

After his shower, Junior hurried up to Mr. Green's penthouse. The sounds of ongoing fights echoed faintly through the walls, but his excitement over his victory overshadowed everything else. The crowd’s cheers still reverberated in his mind, making it hard to focus on anything else.  

He rubbed his jaw, sore from smiling, as he entered the penthouse. Mr. Green was standing at his desk, piles of money stacked to one side while he quickly counted merits with his ringed fingers.  “Hey, kid, thanks for coming so quickly,” Mr. Green said without looking up.

“Of course, Uncle!!” Junior replied, grinning, though his jaw was now aching even more.

“Wow, what a win! Was it everything you dreamed of?” Hayden asked, gesturing to a seat across from the desk where Junior plopped down, hands behind his head.

“Yeah, it was awesome! I can’t wait for my next match!”

Hayden leaned against the front of his desk, tossing a thick stack of cash into Junior’s lap. Junior stared at it, stunned—he had never seen so much money in his life.

“Your cut's a bit bigger tonight because it’s your first win. Congrats, kid. You really shined tonight, just like I knew you would. It’s in your DNA to be a winner.”

Those words made Junior’s chest swell with pride, and he sat up a little straighter.

“Keep winning like that, and I think you’ll be moving up the ranks in no time. I’ve got another fight lined up for you in a few days. You’ll be up against Dart—the melee fighter from your party. Think you’re ready to take him on?”

“Definitely,” Junior scoffed, full of confidence.

Mr. Green tapped his cane twice on the floor. “That’s what I like to hear. Go get your sigils refilled by Marty. My treat.”

“Thank you, sir!” Junior said, leaping up and walking out with a spring in his step, completely missing the shadowed smile Mr. Green gave him as he left.

__________________________________________________________________________

Marty, the Ink Artist, was the oldest person Junior had ever met. Surely he should have retired ages ago, but he still worked in the hotel basement, refilling sigils for Ink Fighters.

Junior entered the dimly lit room, illuminated only by neon karma bulb signs. Marty sat hunched over his sketching table, surrounded by intricate drawings of sigils. His wrinkled hands moved swiftly, never shaking as he meticulously worked on the designs.

Junior knocked on the doorframe and strolled inside, flopping into the tattoo chair.

“Hey, Marty! Mr. Green said I could get a refill tonight.”

The Ink Artist turned, his face lined with scars.

“I know. I just got word.” Marty held up a slip of paper that had somehow come directly from Mr. Green’s office. Junior still didn’t know how messages moved so quickly within the hotel.  

Normally, Ink Fighters had to pay for their own refills, even though the hotel rates were cheaper than outside shops. Junior was relieved he didn’t have to dip into his newly earned cash for this one. Ink syringes worked in a pinch, but nothing compared to a full refill by an Ink Artist.

“Just a refill today?” Marty asked, pulling on his gloves.

“Yeah, for now.” Junior’s mind was already racing with thoughts of what new sigils he could get with his winnings. If he was already performing well with his current sigils, he could only imagine what he’d be capable of with more power.

“Good. I’ve already done a new ink today, and I’m not really in the mood for another.” Marty grinned, revealing that most of his teeth were gone, leaving only his gums visible.

He lifted his arm, showing a large bandage across it—something Junior hadn’t noticed before. He winced in sympathy. Payback could be dangerous. Refills usually only caused minor side effects, but there was always a risk.

“If you’re too hurt, I don’t want—” Junior started, but Marty let out a wheezing laugh.

“That’s what Ink Artists do, kid. It’s why we get paid the big bucks. Now flip over; let’s get started.”

Junior turned onto his stomach, exposing the back of his legs where most of his fire sigil was located.

“You know, I saw your dad a few weeks ago. It’s been a while since he came in for anything besides Ink Artist lessons.”

“Wait, Dad’s been learning to be an Ink Artist?” Junior started to sit up, but Marty gently pushed him back down.

“Don’t squirm, or you’ll ruin my work.”

Junior lay still as the hum of the karma Ink Artist machine started up. He felt the atmosphere shift, his body tensing like he was about to drop off a high ledge. Karma was being siphoned from him into the machine, then transferred into his sigils.

He took a few calming breaths, trying not to resist the pull, letting the machine do its work. Marty kept talking, but Junior was zoning out, his mind drifting, like surfacing from underwater after a long time.

“He’s got a lot of those old books on Ink Fighting. I gave him most of them. I used to visit a temple myself, back when they were still around.”

“Mhm,” Junior muttered, barely registering what the old man was saying.

Marty didn’t seem to mind and kept talking as he worked. After flipping over for a quick session on the front of his sigils, the process was done. His sigils glowed brightly, refilled with karma, just like when he first got them two years ago.

“Thanks, Marty! Wow, they look amazing.” Junior wiped the sweat from his forehead, admiring his sigils in the mirror. The red ink stood out vividly. He turned to get a better look at Marty’s handiwork. “You really outdid—”  His voice trailed off.

Behind Marty, a small payback blobby had appeared—dark and sludge-like, the size of a rat. It gurgled toward Marty, who noticed it right away.

“Don’t worry, I got it,” Marty said, bending down like he was about to squash a bug. But as he got closer, the payback began to shake and snarl before—POOF!—it burst into a small flame, the same color as Junior’s sigil.

“Damn!” Marty sighed, looking around for something to put it out with.

Frozen, Junior watched, flashbacks of his first sigil flooding his mind—the burn Marty gave him that was still a running joke between them.

“I’m in the Champions League now,” Junior thought. Without hesitation, he stepped forward, raised his leg, and stomped down hard, snuffing out the payback. When he lifted his foot, only smoke remained.

“Oh, thanks, kid,” Marty coughed. “I imagine I’ll be seeing a lot more of you now, huh?”

“Yeah,” Junior said, still staring at the spot where the payback had been.

__________________________________________________________________________

Defeating Dart had been no problem. New matches came quickly, and his rest periods shrank—from days to hours, with some nights requiring him to face two opponents. But he was unstoppable in the lower ranks. His speed and explosive power made quick work of his competition, fighters who had lingered in the championship league for years.

His mother attended every match, always making sure to take him out afterward to celebrate.  “They’re really no match for you, huh, lightning bug?” she called from the front seat. They were riding in a sleek car Mr. Green had provided. Junior hadn’t quite decided how he felt about his mom dating the hotel owner, but it made her happy, and for now, that was enough.

Firefly stared out the window, watching the hypnotic lights of the hotel strip pass by. He was tired after completing his second double match in as many days. Tonight, he had fought Skinny Knives, a melee fighter he had never liked, and Venom, an elemental Ink Fighter just a few years older than him. Junior remembered facing Venom in the Junior League a few years back—and losing.

“You really smoked that other kid tonight,” his mother said, reaching back to grab her purse from beside Junior. “Did you feel good about it?”

“Yeah, I did,” Junior laughed. “I didn’t think he’d go down in the first round.”

“Well, you’re pretty powerful now,” his mother said, rummaging through her bag.

“I guess.” Junior shrugged, feeling the weight of the matches catching up to him.

“What rank are you now, anyway?” His mother lit a cigarette, filling the car with smoke as she struggled to roll down the window.

“Thirteenth.” Junior coughed, opening his own window for air.

“That’s pretty good,” she mumbled between puffs.

“Yeah, really. Only the best of the best are ahead of me now, along with the champions. I’ve been watching them for years, and I think I know how I could counter their moves—”

“Wow, look at this place!” his mother shrieked as they pulled up to the restaurant.

They stepped out of the car and into the vibrant lights and sounds of the Canis Major strip.

The restaurant’s exterior was extravagant, featuring a shimmering water display and grand pillars resembling an ancient temple, all draped in gold and flashing with karmastry-powered lights.

“This place is nice! You’re really going to treat me to dinner here?” His mother squeezed his shoulders, excitement in her voice.

“Yeah, anything for you, Ma.” Junior felt the weight of the merits in his pocket but reminded himself not to blow it all—he still had to pay Mr. Green back monthly for the advertising he was starting to receive as a headliner.

His mom took his arm, and they strolled past a group of girls a little older than Junior. They giggled as he walked by, and he smiled sheepishly, glancing back at them.

At the entrance, the host greeted them. “Reservation under Green. Like the hotel,” his mother said, flashing a smile.

Just as Junior was about to follow her inside, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around to see one of the girls from the group they had passed, with the others standing behind her, still giggling.

“Excuse me, are you Firefly?” she asked, her eyes wide with excitement.

Junior straightened up immediately, his posture shifting as he rolled his shoulders back.

“Uh, yeah, that’s me.” Suddenly, he found himself surrounded by the girls, their excited energy contagious.

“We saw your fight the other day.”

“Yeah, you were really amazing.”

“What are those tattoos called? Do they run on karma?”

“My dad says Ink Fighters are just lazy Escape Artists, but you really proved him wrong in that last fight!”

They handed him pens and scraps of paper, eagerly asking for autographs. Overwhelmed but grinning from ear to ear, Junior signed them all, barely keeping up with their rapid-fire questions and compliments. It took some time before his mother finally pulled him away, guiding him into the restaurant.

As they walked off, the girls continued to call after him, cheering and giggling.

“Did you see that, Ma? They knew me!”