Chapter 4 — "The Retro Fight"

📕👉 Read Chapter 3 Here

Hayden Green's private viewing box was at the top of the arena, jutting out from the wall near the top of the cage. Despite the distance to the cage floor, the view was unbeatable. All around, Junior could feel the energy of the crowd pounding their feet into the stands, their roar shaking the walls. The lights were brighter up here, and the fighters below seemed larger, like under a microscope. There must have been some unseen karma tech enhancing the view, or perhaps a hired Escape Artist nearby. Either way, it felt like Junior was in the cage himself.

Hayden’s box was filled with beautiful people, all draped in furs and smoking dark-colored cigars. They barely gave the sweaty kid a glance before returning to their hushed conversations and sipping strange-colored liquids.

“Sit by me, kid. You’ll get a good view.” Hayden tapped a chair beside him and sat down, propping his feet on the low wall.

Hayden’s seat was close to the edge of the open-air box, and Junior sat at the edge of the seat offered to him. He could easily see over the ledge, looking straight down at the stands and directly into the center of the ring. It was the best view in the house, and the exhilaration made it feel like he was in the ring himself. His heart pounded in time with the stomping feet of the crowd.

There was a kind of karmastry buzzing around the box, enhancing the sounds from inside the ring. It felt like Junior was still in a fight, his skin prickling with the amplified sound of the floor squeaking and the ref’s whistles screeching as if they were right next to him.

“This is going to be a fun match,” Hayden laughed, grabbing some popcorn from a waiter at his side. He threw a handful into his mouth, chewing loudly around his gold teeth, and handed the box to Junior.

“Here, kid. Have your fill!”

“Thank you, Mr. Green.” Junior took the box eagerly and threw a handful of buttery popcorn into his mouth.

“When you’re with me, call me Uncle Hayden, okay? Your father was like a brother to me,” Hayden called out, almost having to yell over the rising volume of the crowd.

“Okay... Uncle Hayden.” Junior beamed with pride as the hotel owner shot him a wink.

Junior couldn’t help but lean over the edge, looking at the packed arena below. The crowd surged like a stormy sea, bodies in constant motion, excited and energized.  The patrons at the main events were special. Most wore masks to hide their faces and were dressed as if attending an opera—expensive suits and silk dresses. But instead of watching an artistic performance, they were there for blood, sweat, and violence from the greatest Ink Fighters in the world.  

Showgirls danced in a little pre-show, wearing sparkling dresses and holding signs for the different fighters of the night. The crowd closest to them whistled and cheered as they performed. Junior recognized some of the dances as ones his mom still did to prove she “still had it” every now and then.

As the music ended and the girls left the ring, the announcer came to the center of the cage, where a mic descended on an extremely long cable. He grabbed it, waiting for his cue. More music began to play, this time with heavier bass and guitar—battle music. The lights dimmed and danced around the arena, stopping at one of the curtained entrances far below.

“Ladies and gentlemen, join us in welcoming to the stage our first fighter of the main event. Make sure you take cover when the earthquake comes. Welcome to the ring, RRRRRROCKYYYYY!” The announcer’s voice was full of excitement and flair.

Exploding from the entrance in a cloud of rocks and dust, a squat man with a wide chest and short legs barreled into the ring like a cannonball. Covered in hair and missing his front teeth, he yelled nonsensical grunts and cheers at the crowd, trying to get them riled up.

After he’d had his moment in the spotlight, the lights dimmed again. But if anything, the crowd only grew louder. The announcer pointed to the other side of the arena, saving his heightened enthusiasm for the next fighter.

“YOU KNOW HER, YOU LOVE HER! SHE’LL BEAT ANYONE WHO CROSSES HER INTO SUBMISSION. SHE’S AN ANIMAL WITH A WILD HEART. IT’S GORILLAAAA!”

He shouted her name even louder over the crazed crowd, and Junior had to cover his ears to keep from losing his hearing. Through the curtain came two buff men acting as security, followed by fireworks and lasers shooting into the air. Emerging from the smoke was a ginormous woman, tall and muscular, with especially large arms that made her walk hunched over, her massive shoulders pulling her toward the ground in a menacing way. Around her waist was a thick black leather belt with a gold buckle—the Champion’s Belt, bejeweled with karmastry, shining like a lighthouse beacon.

Her eyes, under thick eyebrows, scanned the arena with a glazed, hungry look. Her sigils were the most impressive part, running down both arms—thick gray lines packed with ink that made the tattoos seem to pull off her skin. The delicate lines of fur showed both skill and power. She must have sat in the Ink Artist’s chair for hours, maybe even days, to achieve that kind of detail. Junior could see the craftsmanship even from where he sat.

She entered the ring, allowing her entourage to remove the Champion’s Belt from her waist. The crowd chanted her name over and over, rhythmically, as she threw her head back, revealing brilliantly white teeth, and let out a terrible howling cry, beating her chest with her massive fists.  

Junior forgot who he was with and found himself on his feet, yelling with the crowd. Hayden, beside him, laughed and clapped.

“That’s my girl,” Hayden said, taking the opportunity to grab another drink.

Rocky and Gorilla faced off in the center of the ring. The announcer, standing between them, gave one last call into the mic.

“You know the rules: if the champion is ever defeated, a new champion is crowned. The stakes in the Ink Fighter arena are always high, and though Gorilla has been the champion for almost a year, it doesn’t mean she can’t fall to some newer, hungrier blood.”

The statement caused some boos from Gorilla’s fans, and the announcer quickly left the ring. A ring girl, clad in green sparkly clothes, sauntered across the arena. She held a large sign with a glowing green number one that shot into the air before fading. After she left the stage, the large doors were locked behind her, leaving only the two competitors and the referee, who, despite his large muscles and sigils, looked small compared to the two fighters.

Gorilla stretched her arms while Rocky’s sigils, which ran down his exposed back, bubbled with energy. Junior felt his own sigils, even in their depleted state, ache for action. The energy of the ring was electric, far more intense than the battle he had just experienced. This was the real excitement he craved—everything he had ever wanted.

The bell rang, and the sigils of the professional fighters leapt off their skin. Rocky’s rocks collided with Gorilla’s fur-covered, ape-like arms. The fight began as fast as two speeding trains.  

Rocky lasted two rounds.

Junior didn’t sit down the entire time, chanting and yelling with the crowd, his eyes glued to the center of the ring.

Gorilla was fantastic—erratic, yet perfectly balanced as a fighter. She relied on her raw power, using her massive arms to propel herself across the ring before Rocky could summon more rocks, forcing him to constantly stay on the defensive with no break in her relentless attacks.  

Rocky’s eyes grew more fearful with every move, while Gorilla’s eyes only became wilder.

The first round ended mercifully for Rocky, who hugged his water bottle while his coach refilled the sigils on his back. Gorilla’s sigils hadn’t drained yet, so she had to intentionally let the energy leave them for her coaches to refill. She was bouncing on her feet, always moving, baring her white teeth and flashing her striking green eyes.

The ring girl danced spectacularly across the stage, revving up the crowd for the next round, though the air was already thick with excitement. As soon as the bell rang for the second round, Gorilla leapt—not at Rocky, but onto the cage wall. She climbed hand over hand, moving closer to the ceiling. Rocky hurled a rainstorm of rocks at her in an attempt to bring her down, but he couldn’t hit her, always missing by inches.

Gorilla climbed so high that she was level with the VIP box Junior was in. She paused, her eyes scanning the box, then landed on Junior for a moment. She smiled her thick, white smile and then let go, leaping backward through the air and crashing down on Rocky.

It was so loud, but to Junior, everything went silent as Gorilla came down on Rocky in a devastating move, crushing him under her enormous arms with a sickening smash. Rock dust filled the air in a thick cloud.

It took nearly ten minutes to calm the crowd enough to declare Gorilla the winner. Once the dust settled, Rocky was taken away on a stretcher. The ref raised Gorilla’s arm—still in its animal state—high into the air. Junior felt tears well up in his eyes, like he had just witnessed an important moment in history. His heart pounded so hard it hurt, and his legs had burned holes into the floor beneath his feet.

“That was pretty great, right?” Hayden smirked, leaning back in his chair.

“Are you kidding? That was unbelievable!” Junior screamed, leaning over the edge to watch his hero walk out of the ring.

Hayden pulled Junior back from the edge as he leaned out precariously.

“Whoa there! Just wait until you see the next event, kid! I think you’ll be even more surprised.”

Junior finally sat down, feeling lightheaded as if he had just stepped off a roller coaster. He hadn’t fully heard what Hayden had said, so he looked at him for clarification, but the announcer began speaking again. Junior noticed that none of the patrons had left.

“For our encore performance tonight, we have two very special guests. You’ve seen them before, and they’re back for more. We have a blast from the past!”

The crowd started to cheer politely again. Nothing like the roaring excitement from moments before, but the need for more was thick in the air.

“She may be old, but she’s still got it. Weapons master, Hilda the War Hammer!”

Junior opened his mouth to ask more questions as an older, wrinkled woman entered the ring. A large weapon tattoo ran from her wrist up to her neck. She smiled and waved to the crowd, looking sweet and out of place despite the imposing sigil.

Before Junior could form his questions, the announcer started again.

“Our next special surprise is a former champion, still as strong as an ox. It’s the ever-stoic LOCKJAW!”

The crowd exploded into a mix of boos, hissing, cheering, and clapping. Junior sat wide-eyed as his father entered the ring, wearing a faded uniform—the same one from the old posters—but with a deep frown on his face. He wore large boxing gloves, and his sigils looked newly filled, different from how Junior had always seen them, drained and flat on his dad’s face.

War Hammer waved at the crowd, blowing kisses, while his father stood motionless in the center of the ring like a statue, scanning the fans as if searching for someone.

“I don’t... what’s happening?” Junior forgot where he was for a moment and looked to Hayden for answers.

“It’s a retro fight. We do it sometimes at the patrons’ request when they want to see their favorite fighters from the past. Your father hasn’t done one in, geez... ten or so years, but I can be persuasive.”

The hotel owner placed a hand on the young Ink Fighter’s shoulder, guiding him to relax back into the chair.

“I just wanted to show him that fighting could feel good again. You know that feeling. The ring, the lights, the heat. There’s nothing like it.”

Junior nodded, still stunned that his dad would even step into the ring. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen his father fight in front of anyone but students. He looked so awkward, and Junior sank lower in his chair, suddenly filled with embarrassment.

War Hammer stretched her large arms, but Lockjaw remained hunched over, rubbing his jaw. The ring girl quickly exited, leaving an air of tense anticipation in the arena. It wasn’t the fire of excitement that had consumed the room earlier; it was a slow-rolling thunder. Lockjaw’s reputation once spoke for itself, and now everyone was eager to see what he was still capable of.

Before Junior knew it, the bell rang, and the fight began.

War Hammer summoned her sigil slowly, peeling it from her arm like it was stuck with glue, while Lockjaw patiently waited for her to fully form it. When the massive, spiked hammer was free, its weight sent the head crashing to the ground.

With the weapon in hand, War Hammer moved with great strength, hurling it toward Lockjaw. For a tantalizing moment, it seemed like Junior’s father wouldn’t move, but at the last possible second, he ducked, letting the spikes breeze just over his head.

War Hammer continued her assault, but Lockjaw danced around her. Junior watched as his father summoned his sigils, absorbing blows where War Hammer lost steam. The massive hammer bounced harmlessly off his shoulders and face, like it weighed nothing more than a balloon.

He was moving faster than Junior had ever seen. With each step, his sigils burned brighter, and his body seemed less rigid. Was it possible that his father was enjoying this? Junior sat up, leaning forward again.

Lockjaw dodged another swing, managing to get behind War Hammer. Her weapon clanged hard against the metal cage. She couldn’t maintain her focus, and the war hammer leaked from her hands, turning back into liquid before vanishing.

Lockjaw saw his opening and pushed energy into his sigils, hardening his hands like steel. He hammered his fists into her sides and back, and War Hammer began to crumble. Lockjaw came around to the front, grappling her around her shoulders, winding up for a knockout punch to the face.

The audience was stunned, cheering for the former champion. For a moment, Lockjaw basked in it, a small smile forming on his face. Junior leapt up, cheering with them, pride swelling inside him.

Suddenly, Lockjaw’s eyes found Junior in the stands, and their gazes locked. His father’s face changed, his eyes growing sunken. Then, to Junior’s shock, Lockjaw lowered his fist and let War Hammer go. The crowd erupted in confusion and anger.

“Finish her!” someone shouted, but Lockjaw didn’t seem to hear. He just kept his eyes on Junior. More jeers rained down, calling for Lockjaw to finish the match, but none of it seemed to affect him. The old man stood still in the middle of the ring, staring up at the private box.

Then, without warning, War Hammer’s spiked fist collided with his face, sending him flying across the ring.

Lockjaw hit the ground and sat there, unmoving, as if he had been knocked out. There was a tense moment as the ref began the count. Junior was confused—he had seen his father’s sigil activate; he wasn’t hurt. He was giving up.

“Get up!” Junior cried, leaning over the edge, watching his father sit as the ref counted.

“GET UP!” he yelled again, more angrily, embarrassment flooding him. The crowd booed, throwing things at the cage, but Lockjaw still sat there, defiance written on his features.

“6...7...” the ref was taking his time, giving his father a chance.

“You coward!” Junior screamed, his voice cutting through the air.

Lockjaw looked up at his son, sadness in his eyes, but didn’t make a move to stand.

“10!” The ref called, raising War Hammer’s hand in victory, but the crowd didn’t cheer for her. Instead, they booed Lockjaw.

“What a shame,” Hayden tutted beside him. “He still has it in him, and he chooses not to.”  

Junior bit back the vile thoughts he wanted to spew at his father. What came out instead was short and choked.

“He’s a coward...”

Hayden placed a hand on his shoulder as they watched Lockjaw get escorted from the stage, fans still throwing garbage at him in disgust. Junior felt a fire, not from his feet this time, but from his face—burning with embarrassment and humiliation.