In the dim dark night stood one man sitting at a campfire whlie sharpening his blades whlie reminiscing about his past this mans name was acarie and this is his story
My name is Acarie. When I was a young boy, my father owed money to some thugs and was beaten to death. My mother, on the other hand, seemed indifferent to his death and resorted to sleeping with different men, using my body for money. After the men left, she would abuse me just like they did. However, one day, everything changed.
She ran out of cash and sold me to a mafia boss. At first, I thought I was finally free, but it turned out to be the opposite. The man my mother sold me to ran a fight club, and I was just a pawn for them to use. The first time I entered the ring, my opponent was a big, muscular man who seemed to be on steroids. He grabbed my head, slammed me repeatedly, threw me to the floor, and kicked me relentlessly. All I felt was excruciating pain, and I thought I was going to die.
i felt utterly abandoned, as if no one would come to my rescue. Just as the imposing figure was about to strike the final blow, an elderly man intervened and halted the confrontation. They transported me to a stark room with thin walls and devoid of any furnishings, not even a bed. I was forced to sleep on the blood-stained floor, with my injuries left untreated. The following day, I found myself transferred to another room where they commenced a brutal regimen of torture aimed at inducing submission. Their objective was to shatter my will, allowing them to exert control over me. Initially, the torment began in mere seconds, but those seconds stretched into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, and days into months, ultimately culminating in a year of relentless suffering.
Despite my repeated attempts to withstand the torment, I ultimately succumbed to despair. It was not the torture that shattered me; rather, it was my mother's unexpected visit. I suspect she was compensated for this encounter. Initially, I believed she had come to rescue me, but my naivety was evident. Instead, she struck me and berated me for my perceived worthlessness, incessantly labeling me as useless and a failure. She referred to me as a brat and suggested that I should meet the same fate as my father. Her cruel words regarding my father were the final blow that broke me. In addition to my devastation, I was consumed by rage at her remarks. I felt an overwhelming urge to seize a weapon and strike her. In a fit of fury, I grabbed the nearest object and attacked her repeatedly until she ceased to move.
Upon completing my task with my mother, I realized that her entire demeanor had vanished, and I felt devoid of any emotion. I glanced up to find the elderly man observing me with his icy gaze. We maintained our gaze until he informed me that my next match was scheduled for the following day and that I should prepare accordingly. After he departed, I began my training, reminding myself that when I entered the ring, we would ensure that our opponents recognized our fearlessness and commanded their respect.