There are corners of the world that not even the sun can reach.Places where poverty, pain, sadness, and desperation mingle, dancing around the broken hopes and dreams of people. Where hope itself only brings suffering.
One such place lies in the suburbs of New York, where broken people discover that the only way to stay alive is to fight for the entertainment of the powerful. Fighting between humans who possess even average amounts of Energy, and betting on such matches, is extremely illegal. But why would that matter to those who've already lost everything?
You have to kill or be killed.
One of these people is Cain Thorne; seventeen and already fighting for his life in a ring of death, a place where the blood never dries and the cries for mercy never fade.
He's an orphan. His mother and sister died in a plane crash, after which his father traded him for a bottle of cheap liquor. Alone, Cain ended up working for Gregory, a surly man who loved nothing more than money and who saw in Cain the perfect candidate for his underground fight club.
Since the age of thirteen, Cain had fought daily for survival. The flesh had long vanished from his knuckles, leaving behind only white bone wrapped in bandages. But he didn't wear them out of shame. Quite the opposite, he wanted his opponents to see his hands, to read death written on them, hoping that maybe, finally, someone would give him a break.But that never happened.
When desperation seizes a man, the fear of losing becomes meaningless. Cain only wore the bandages because it made it easier to strangle larger opponents, not to protect himself.
He stood once again in the corner of the ring. No nerves, no shaking — his feet were steady, his eyes locked on his opponent.
Hunter.
Shorter than Cain, about 1.70 meters, and thinner too. Some might think that smaller meant easier, but that was exactly what Cain hated. Short meant close, and thin meant fast, the kind of fighter Cain despised most. Gregory knew that, of course.
Cain glanced up toward a section of the stands sealed off by one-sided glass. He couldn't see through it, but he knew Gregory was there, watching with his rich guests. They couldn't wait to see which broken man would fall first. Bets were called, voices rose, and then, the infernal sound of the bell rang through Cain's ears.
As expected, Hunter dashed forward, throwing a barrage of blows before Cain could even step out of his corner. Cain's defense was solid, he prided himself on it, but somehow this wiry man found gaps, slipping strikes through the narrowest cracks in Cain's guard. A few of them nearly brought him to his knees.
Cain shoved Hunter back, desperate for a second to think, to breathe, but Hunter leapt again, clinging to him like a leech that had tasted blood.
With a final effort, Cain threw him into the metal fence surrounding the ring. Both men paused, eyes locked and what Cain saw made his blood boil.
Hunter had that look.The one that said: I've already won. I'm better than you.
Then came his voice, small, sharp, smug.
"We both know which way this is going. So how about you forfeit, and I won't have to bruise you any more?"
Cain frowned. This man had stepped into his ring and told him to surrender?Sure, Hunter was fast, but speed alone doesn't win a fight where your entire life can depend on taking just one more hit.
"Only one of us leaves this ring upright," Cain growled. "So shut up and fight."
This time, Cain dashed forward, swinging a haymaker straight for Hunter's head, a feint, one he knew his opponent would dodge. As Hunter slipped under his arm, Cain twisted on his foot and drove his heel into the side of Hunter's head.
Hunter staggered, clutching his skull, and Cain lunged again, grabbing his arms and slamming his knee into Hunter's chest, knocking the air out of him.
For good measure, Cain seized Hunter's arm, turned, and threw him over his shoulder onto the cold, blood-stained cement floor.
He didn't get up.Cain didn't see him move at all.
A few men in tight black shirts rushed in, dragging Hunter away. Maybe he was dead. Maybe he was just unconscious. Maybe he was faking.None of it mattered to Cain.
All that mattered was the little prize money he'd earned, enough to live one more day.One more day of pain.Of sadness.Of broken hope.
Hope that maybe, somehow, this was all for something.That one day, something would change, and he could finally live like a normal person.In comfort.