He was a fighter. A kickboxer riding the wave of kickboxing's growing popularity during the early 70s. A man who dominated every kickboxing event he participated in. He was a monster who, throughout his many fights, gained the nickname: "The Stinger." He thought he was on top of the world, until he heard about an underground fighting organization called "Paraiso", a fighting organization located on a then unnamed island in the Philippines. Paraiso was unlike anything he had ever seen. He had heard of Vale Tudo before, but even that was nothing compared to the absolute brutality that were Paraiso matches. They were Openweight, the rounds had no time limit, there were no bans on moves such as biting or eye-poking, and most importantly, many martial artists using different styles would come together and fight.
It was like a dream come true for him. He got to face amateur wrestlers, karateka, judoka, professional wrestlers, boxers, and many more fighters with either unidentified or personal styles of martial arts. He was a rising star, feared for his "faster-than-light strikes" and a defense made of the most solid iron. He was happy, this place was like heaven for him, a true Valhalla on Earth! And it wasn't just him
that had now become happy, for he had a manager who he trusted since they were young boys. He was the one responsible for the financial aspect of the fighter's career. These matches paid big; way more than any public martial arts promotion could ever dream of paying.
And then it happened, The Paraiso Grand Tournament, a 32-participant tournament event that happens every 10 years. It was a tournament to decide who would be the strongest man in the world, to be the strongest under the sun! And the man couldn't miss it, not for his life or anyone else's. He was already rich, and his skills had already been talked about in and out of martial arts circles, but that wasn't enough for him. It wasn't enough that he was just "strong", for he wanted to be the strongest, he wanted to show the world who was truly on top!
Following the tournament's announcement, the man started conditioning himself, grueling training day in and day out. It was agonizing, there was barely any time to rest. He would hit the bag first thing in the morning, go to local gyms for some sparring, and come back home to resume hitting the bag until he physically couldn't, and yet his spirit would rise to continue where the body had left off. He could barely contain his excitement, often leaving his training grounds wrecked with dents and cracks coming from his fists and legs. He never let his guard down for even a second, always preparing, always bettering himself for the next fight.
The day had come for the tournament. He was to fight in the 6th match of round 1, against a Nak Muay. While the first five matches went on, the man was warming up in his personal fighter's room. He had heard of his opponent before, he was described as an absolute monster of a man despite being relatively small compared to most of the other fighters, a Lightweight fighter that packs a punch only seen in Super Heavyweights. His opponent was Meta "The Muay Thai Monster" Jakkrit.
And then it was time, he walked out of the left entrance to the arena, sweaty, heated up, and prepared for battle. He had a big grin on his face, he couldn't control his excitement at the thought of becoming the fabled strongest man in the world. His smile was infectious, at that brought Meta to smile back too.
"FIGHTERS ARE YOU READY!?" The referee proclaimed.
"I was born ready!"
"Heh, I'm always ready."
With both fighters now in position, the referee started the signal and shouted:
"BEGIN!"
The fight starts, the man throws a jab, to which Meta blocks. Meta goes in for a low kick, he blocks, but the kick was a feint as he immediately goes in for an elbow to the temple. The man's vision tilts, but he regains balance and begins his counterattack. A furious flurry of 1-2 punches with kicks nestled in between. They are blocked, and his flurry is met with a knee to the jaw, staggering the man and causing him to dash backwards.
"…has received two heavy hits! He may be made of solid iron, but Meta's strikes are a damn force to be reckon with!"
The commentator shouts. It was time for his revenge, he decided that rushing in wasn't the best option, so he started playing defensively, waiting for Meta to strike first. He took the bait, Meta went in for another low kick feint, as his other leg reached for the sky with a roundhouse. The man slips the kick, and goes in for a huge headshot, with a hook landing square on Meta's face.
"An amazing counter! What will...bring next to the table!?"
Not one to let the opportunity slip, the man went in for more, going for a liver blow, which gets blocked and is then countered by another elbow to the temple. The man staggers once more, and instead of waiting for his vision to recover, decides to throw a straight. Meta slips the straight and clocks him straight in the chin, causing his brain to be bounced around in his skull. The man hastily puts up his guard, but is met with a knee to the chin, breaking his guard. Once again, he tries to put up his guard, but Meta goes for a low kick, stunning the man. Following the low kick, he shoves the man back with a side kick.
"Wow, what a beating…is taking! I wonder how much longer he can last as he gets pummeled by the Muay Thai Monster!"
The man recovers but is now beaten all over. He recomposes himself and calmly assesses the situation. However, he wasn't giving the luxury of another opening, as Meta rips through the air with a flying 360-degree roundhouse kick, which landed square on the man's face. This is where his memory ended. He had been knocked out, it was over--for the man's body at least. He got back up unconscious.
"And even after all of that...still stands up! What a marvelous display of his unyielding spirit!"
As if guided by muscle memory alone, he goes in once more for another attack. A jab, which was just a setup for a low kick. It lands on Meta, which stuns him, allowing the man to go for a front kick, causing him to flinch and be pushed back. Meta tries to counter with an overhead right, but gets clipped in the jaw, tilting his vision. The man then hits Meta with a backhand that sends him back. Meta realizes that he became unconscious, and with the biggest smile on his face he said:
"That's no fun…I wanted you to be awake when I dismantle you."
He rushes in, with a flurry of low kicks. They get blocked, but he follows up with an elbow uppercut, and then a 12-6 elbow to the face. Once again going with a flurry of low kicks, which all targeted his upper thigh and calf. His femur was starting to fracture. Meta hits a flying knee to the jaw, sending him back, and with the distance he has created, prepares himself for another 360-degree roundhouse kick. The man was still unconscious standing up, with his guard down. Meta once again rips through the sky to deliver the kick, but instead of landing on his face, it lands on his arm, shattering the ulna and radius. The pain wakes the man up, and he drops to his knees as his broken legs can no longer support him.
"AND THE WINNER IS THE MUAY THAI MONSTER, META JAKKRIT!!!"
He had been defeated in the first round. His body, along with his spirit, had been broken. His dreams of becoming the strongest in the world have all but ceased to exist. There he knelt on the bloodstained sand.
"Sorry but, I'm going to win this tournament. You can cheer me on in the stands."
Meta says, walking away victoriously. The man was taken to the infirmary.
When the man came to, he wasn't in the fighter's infirmary, instead he woke up inside a shoddy clinic somewhere in Northern Mindanao. On the table next to his bed was a note which read: "I can't believe I bought into your "strongest in the world" crap." There was no name written on it, but he could tell that the note was from his manager. He had been abandoned, with not even a single cent to his name.
The clinic was kind enough to patch up his wounds for free, but being a subpar medical station in, what may as well be, the middle of nowhere, his wounds still ached, and he walked with a limp. But what now? He had no money, no shelter, no source of income, and was stuck in a country where he didn't even speak the native language. For the first few months of his time there, he was homeless, begging in the streets. Many passersby wondered what a foreigner was doing on the streets all dirty, but that was all the attention he got. It was honestly a miracle that his wounds didn't get infected. After his leg injuries were mostly healed, he then searched for a place to get a job. This was going to prove difficult as he didn't have documents, didn't have proper clothing and smelled awful, and most importantly didn't even speak Tagalog or Bisaya. He searched and searched and when all hope was lost, he was taken in by a Sari-sari store, a type of convenience store in the Philippines. It was run by an old man with a young kid.
The old man was kind enough to take him in, despite his impoverished looks. He even offered him a place to stay, in exchange for his services as a person that would manage the shop when the old man is either away or asleep. The man would also offer his strength when deliveries of items were to arrive. It was a far cry from the glorious days in the bloody ring, but it was enough to keep him alive. The man learnt how to speak the native language through daily exchanges with the store's customers and with the owner and his son. Eventually, as time went on the man had forgotten his dream. His fighting spirit faded away, and there was nothing he could do to rekindle that flame. Despite the clinic's best efforts, it obviously had subpar equipment, leading to the man's injuries becoming permanent.
One day, while the man was restocking the goods, the old man said:
"Hey, I never really asked for your name, did I? I always just called you "dong." So, what is your name young man?" "My name…my name is Jack Wayne." "Jack eh…thank you for helping this old man. I hope you will continue to do so in the future."
This exchange of words, while seemingly insignificant, were words that Jack would never forget. He realized that not once has he heard the words "Thank you." A tear dropped from his eye after that. Despite the years passing by, and with it the old man's passing. His son had become a successful businessman and passed ownership of the shop to Jack. He sends just enough money to Jack to help him out. Jack lets out a big sigh.
"If only I could see that place again."
Jack mumbles to himself as he goes to sleep, hoping and praying that one day he could be under the light of the fighter's paradise once more.