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Chapter 7: The Blood of Ambition
The warehouse air was thick with sweat, blood, and the roar of the crowd. The tournament had taken on a life of its own as the night wore on. Fighters staggered out of the ring battered and broken, some barely able to stand. The winners were hailed as champions, their victories celebrated with cheers and crude taunts. The losers were dragged away, their blood staining the wooden planks beneath the flickering light.
Lex Navarro sat in a corner of the locker room, wrapping his hands in tape that had already been stained red from his first fight. His ribs ached, and his knuckles throbbed, but he felt a fire burning inside him—a mixture of adrenaline, fear, and hunger. He had tasted victory, and now he craved more.
Tomas knelt beside him, tightening the tape with practiced efficiency. "Your next opponent is no joke," he said, his voice gruff. "Kid's name is Elías. Fast, aggressive, and mean as hell. He's got five wins tonight already, and none of them lasted more than a round."
Lex nodded, his jaw clenched. "What's his weakness?"
Tomas smirked faintly. "Cocky. Likes to show off. He'll come at you hard, thinking he can take you down quick. Use that against him."
Lex glanced toward the door leading to the ring. He could hear the crowd chanting, their voices a chaotic blend of excitement and bloodlust. "What happens if I lose?"
Tomas didn't answer right away. Instead, he stood and patted Lex on the shoulder. "Don't lose."
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The sound of metal scraping against concrete signaled the beginning of another fight. Lex watched as the fighter before him stumbled back into the locker room, his face swollen and unrecognizable. The boy collapsed onto a bench, coughing blood onto the floor.
"He's done," someone muttered.
Lex ignored the scene, focusing instead on the rhythm of his breathing. He wasn't here to make friends or feel sympathy. He was here to win.
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The crowd erupted as Lex stepped into the ring, their cheers mingling with jeers and curses. Across from him stood Elías—a wiry boy with a shaved head and a scar running down his cheek. He bounced on the balls of his feet, throwing shadow punches as if to remind everyone why he was the favorite.
Elías grinned when he saw Lex. "You don't look like much," he taunted, his voice loud enough for the audience to hear. "This won't take long."
Lex didn't respond. He slipped into his stance, his hands high and his feet steady. He could feel the weight of the room pressing down on him, the eyes of the crowd hungry for violence.
The bell rang, and Elías exploded forward like a coiled spring.
His first punch was a wild right hook aimed at Lex's head. Lex ducked, feeling the air rush past his ear as the blow missed. Elías didn't hesitate, following up with a flurry of jabs and uppercuts. Lex blocked most of them, but a stray punch clipped his jaw, sending a sharp jolt of pain through his skull.
The crowd roared, sensing blood.
Elías pressed the attack, his fists moving like lightning. Lex retreated, his mind racing. He's fast, but he's predictable. Tomas's words echoed in his head: Use his cockiness against him.
Lex waited for the next wild swing—a haymaker aimed at his temple. He sidestepped at the last second, driving his fist into Elías's ribs with all the force he could muster. The impact sent a shockwave through Elías's body, and for a split second, his smirk faltered.
Lex didn't give him time to recover. He followed up with a jab to the face, then another to the stomach. Elías stumbled back, his guard faltering. The crowd screamed, their bloodlust reaching a fever pitch.
But Elías wasn't done. With a snarl, he lunged at Lex, wrapping his arms around his torso and slamming him into the ropes. The breath left Lex's lungs in a rush, and Elías drove a knee into his side. Pain exploded through his ribs, but Lex gritted his teeth and fought back, throwing elbows into Elías's back until the referee separated them.
"Get up, Navarro!" Marco shouted from the sidelines.
Lex staggered to his feet, his vision swimming. Elías was already advancing, his fists flying. But Lex saw the mistake—the slight drop in Elías's guard as he wound up for another hook.
Lex ducked under the punch and countered with an uppercut that connected cleanly with Elías's chin. The impact snapped Elías's head back, and he crumpled to the ground in a heap.
For a moment, the warehouse fell silent. Then the crowd erupted, their cheers shaking the walls.
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Lex stood over Elías, his chest heaving, his knuckles coated in blood. The referee raised his hand, declaring him the winner. But Lex didn't feel like celebrating. He knew this was only the second step in a long, bloody road.
As he returned to the locker room, the other fighters watched him with a mix of respect and wariness. Tomas met him with a nod, handing him a towel to wipe the blood from his face.
"You did good," Tomas said. "But the next fight's going to be even tougher."
Lex nodded, his jaw set. He didn't need to be reminded. This wasn't just about winning—it was about surviving.
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