Malachi left The Cage riding a high of fierce triumph, adrenaline thrumming through his veins like pure fire. The cool night air hit his face, easing the fevered tension slightly, but his heart still thundered with the thrill of battle. Beside him, Taz wore a smile that could've lit up the darkest street.
"Goddamn, Malachi, you didn't just murder that clown—you buried his ass alive," she laughed, punching his shoulder playfully. "Ice might as well retire after tonight."
He chuckled, rolling his shoulders to ease the tension still gripping his muscles. "Had to make sure they heard me loud and clear."
"Oh, they heard," she assured him, suddenly growing serious. "And now they're gonna answer back. You're shaking shit up—Hex won't ignore this."
Malachi's smile faded, replaced by grim determination. "Let him come. I'll bury his punk ass too."
Taz shook her head, eyes twinkling with approval. "Just keep that fire burning. I got your back."
The next afternoon, Malachi sat in the dusty old gym, watching as Marcus "Coach M" Eubanks paced in front of him, arms crossed tightly, expression grave. Marcus had seen battles before—real battles, not just rap—and knew the stakes better than most.
"Son, you opened a door you might not be ready to walk through," Marcus warned. His voice was steady, calm, but Malachi sensed the worry underneath.
Malachi shrugged, defiant. "If I ain't ready now, I ain't never gonna be. Besides, Hex needs to see he ain't untouchable."
Coach M sighed deeply, rubbing his scarred knuckles thoughtfully. "Listen, kid. Hex ain't just a rapper—he's a strategist. He's cunning, manipulative, dangerous. You think this is just about rhymes and bravado? This shit goes deeper than words."
Malachi leaned forward, eyes blazing. "I get it. But I ain't backing down. Not now, not ever."
Marcus studied him silently for a long moment, finally nodding slowly. "Alright then, let's sharpen your weapon."
He walked Malachi to the back room, converted into a makeshift studio, complete with beat-up speakers, microphones, and faded foam insulation peeling from the walls. Coach M gestured toward the mic.
"Show me what you got, Malachi. I need to see your true strength."
Malachi nodded, stepping up to the mic, headphones snug over his ears. The beat kicked in, gritty and raw, filling the small room. Malachi took a breath, diving deep into his mind, channeling every frustration, every scar, every ambition:
"Hex think he's king, bitch, your crown's on loan,
Coming at your throat, motherfucker, your cover blown.
I'm the nightmare you fear, hear my voice, your doom,
Ripping through your lies, I'll leave nothing but wounds.
You a fake-ass fraud, built your throne on deceit,
I'm the judge and jury, sentencing your defeat.
Better run, pussy boy, my words are your curse,
Every rhyme I spit tightens your hearse.
You scheming, plotting, thinking you slick,
But in this game of chess, bitch, your moves predictable as shit.
Fuck your strategy, your clique, and your name,
I'm rewriting history, destroying your fame."
Marcus listened intently, nodding slightly in approval, his eyes sharp and calculating.
"Good," Marcus finally spoke, voice gruff. "But you can hit harder. Attack deeper. Hex thrives on control—tear that away."
Malachi locked eyes with his mentor, absorbing every word like gospel. "Understood."
Night fell swiftly, and Malachi found himself standing once again in the belly of the beast, this time an old abandoned garage converted into an underground rap battleground. The crowd tonight was rougher, more hostile. Word had spread, and tonight was no ordinary battle.
Hex stood center-stage, waiting. His eyes glittered dangerously in the dim lighting, his presence commanding absolute attention.
"You've been running your mouth, Malachi," Hex drawled lazily, voice dripping venom. "Think you ready to take on the king? Step up, little bitch, let's see what you got."
The crowd erupted with anticipation, the circle tightening with palpable menace. Malachi stepped forward, eyes cold as steel, determination unbreakable.
Hex lunged first, ferocious:
"Malachi, you pussy, stepping out your place,
Tryna rise against me, bitch, I'll break your face.
Thinking you hot shit 'cause you got lucky once or twice,
Step to Hex, motherfucker, you rolling loaded dice.
Half-breed clown, struggling for identity,
Lost little boy, seeking fame desperately.
You spitting nursery rhymes, bitch, I'm the professor,
Schooling your punk ass, every verse applying pressure.
You talk family? Let's discuss your momma quick,
Spread her legs wider than the Mississippi, dick-riding tricks.
Daddy gone missing? Probably ran from shame,
Knowing his son's a loser, disgracing the family name."
The crowd howled wildly, igniting the savage atmosphere.
Malachi felt his anger crystallize, icy, razor-sharp. His voice cut like steel, each syllable precise, lethal:
"You talk tough, Hex, but your words hollow as fuck,
Claiming king status, but you just running out luck.
Motherfucker, your throne built on lies and deceit,
Tonight your bitch-ass getting dragged through the street.
Family insults? Weak shit, expected, pathetic,
Try harder, fraud, your rhymes diabetic.
Your crew full of snakes, cowards who slither,
I'll torch your empire, leave you ashes to wither.
Bitch, I'm your judgment day, come pay your dues,
Strip your fake-ass crown, leave you battered and bruised.
You playing chess? Nah, bitch, it's Russian roulette,
Click-clack, motherfucker, you're placing your bets."
The audience thundered, the raw fury shaking the very foundations of the room. Hex's face contorted with fury, retaliating viciously:
"Little motherfucker, I'll end your whole career,
You barely a whisper, I'm the voice they fear.
You playing gangster? Nah, bitch, that's a joke,
I'll snap your pride easy, watch your spirit choke.
You claiming realness? You fake, son, plastic-made,
I'm the fucking reaper, digging your grave with this blade."
Malachi smiled coldly, stepping closer, his voice calm yet filled with lethal promise:
"Hex, your threats empty, your facade cracked deep,
I'll haunt your nightmares, motherfucker, no sleep.
Tonight marks your downfall, a shift of power,
You fading quick, bitch, your final hour.
You playing god, but I'm the apocalypse,
Erasing your legacy, stealing your lips.
Bitch, bow down, recognize true mastery,
I'm the future king, carving my own destiny."
The silence that followed was deafening. Hex, visibly shaken yet hiding it well, gave Malachi a murderous glare, understanding clearly—Malachi was no longer prey; he was the predator.
"Careful, Malachi," Hex hissed dangerously. "You playing with fire."
Malachi stood unmoved, eyes blazing with unyielding resolve. "Then let the whole world burn."