The atmosphere inside the dimly lit warehouse was electric, air smelled of sweat, metal, and anticipation as the crowd roared with excitement. It was a makeshift arena, with cracked concrete floors and rusty metal railings forming a crude barrier around the fighters, as the flickering fluorescent lights above cast uneven shadows, adding a sense of raw danger to the event.
Two men stood in the ring, stark contrasts to one another.
On one side, a hulking brute of a man towered at 190 cm, his muscles rippling under the faint light, while is fists were like hammers, swinging with unrelenting force and rage, making his opponents usually last not more than a few punches.
But tonight was different.
His challenger was a young man in his early twenties, though not as large, his lean, muscular frame exuded an intimidating confidence. His lavender hair seemed to shimmer with an ethereal glow, and his piercing blue eyes never left his opponent, as he moved like a predator, calculating every step, every dodge, while the bulky man roared, charging forward with a wild swing aimed directly at the young man's head
The crowd gasped, but Damien, as the crowd knew him, didn't flinch, on the contrary he made a smooth sidestep, he dodged the blow by mere inches, his body twisting like a dancer's, making the giant's punch whistle through air, hitting nothing but empty space.
Damien's lips curled into a faint smirk, he his opponents always underestimated him and he always took advantage of that.
As the fight raged on, the bulky man growing more desperate with each missed punch, while sweat dripped down his face, his breathing laboured his opponent, Damien, on the other hand, moved effortlessly, his attacks precise and unrelenting.
Finally, the moment came, the giant threw another wild punch, and Damien saw his opening. Ducking low, he surged upward with an explosive uppercut that landed squarely on the man's jaw, the impact echoed through the arena, and the giant staggered backward before crumpling to the ground like a felled tree.
For a moment, the warehouse was silent.
Then, the crowd erupted in deafening cheers.
"Damien! Damien! Damien!"
But Damien paid no attention, as he raised a hand briefly, acknowledging the crowd, before walking off the stage making his way through the throngs of spectators, heading toward a shadowy corner where a familiar figure awaited him.
The man had a slicked-back hairstyle and a predatory smile, his suit was cheap, but the way he carried himself screamed confidence.
"You're a goddamn machine, Damien," the man said, pulling a thick bundle of cash from his coat. "They love you out there."
Damien took the money without a word, his expression unreadable.
"You know, no matter how much you fight, without talent for it your abilities and strength will not improve", the man's voice echoed in his mind as he left stoic, with sadness underneath.
XXXX
The cold night air nipped at Damien's skin as he walked through the dimly lit streets, his bundle of cash tucked securely inside his jacket, as the adrenaline of the fight had already worn off, he was back in his usual detached state. To him, life was a constant struggle for survival and improvement, while every fight was just another means to an end.
But tonight, fate had other plans.
As he turned into a quiet alley, muffled cries caught his attention, squinting into the shadows, he spotted three figures huddled over a fourth, who lay crumpled on the ground. As two of them held the victim's arms, keeping him upright while a larger man rained down punches, each blow accompanied by a sickening thud.
Damien paused, his sharp eyes scanning the scene, he recognized the man throwing the punches as he was no stranger to him—Alex Jayson, the arrogant owner of the West Fashion Studio chain. Alex was well-dressed, his tailored coat and polished shoes a stark contrast to the grimy alley, despite his outward sophistication, his actions were anything but refined.
"Dammit, Alex,"
Damien muttered under his breath, recognizing the man's notorious temper, even though Alex's chain of stores was moderately successful, enough to make him a known name in the city's business circles, there were rumors—the shady dealings, the hired thugs, and Alex's penchant for violence when crossed.
"You dare disrupt my business?" Alex growled, his voice echoing in the narrow alley
"Even if I kill you right now, that bitch will never find out!"
Damien frowned, he didn't know who Alex was referring to, but the situation was escalating quickly, while Damien wasn't exactly a hero, he wasn't about to let this man die in front of him, especially when he smelled an opportunity.
Pulling out his phone, he quietly began recording the scene, the shaky footage captured Alex's face twisted in fury and the muffled pleas of the man on the ground.
The victim looked to be in his early forties, his face bloodied and swollen beyond recognition, as he struggled weakly against his captors, but it was clear he was losing the fight.
A slow, menacing smile crept across Damien's face as he swiped to a police siren sound effect on his phone, cranking up the volume and hit play.
WEE-WOO WEE-WOO!
The sudden blare of sirens cut through the alley, freezing Alex and his henchmen in their tracks.
"Boss, we need to go!" one of the thugs hissed, panic written all over his face.
Alex clicked his tongue in frustration, his face contorting with anger
"Tsk." He pulled a knife from his coat and plunged it into the victim's stomach before stepping back "Let's go!", he declared
The three men bolted, disappearing into the night, leaving the bloodied man groaning on the ground.
Damien walked cautiously toward the injured man, his phone still in hand, kneeling beside the man, he assessed the damage, the stab wound was deep, and blood was pooling rapidly beneath him. "Stay with me," Damien said, though his voice lacked the warmth of genuine concern.
He quickly searched the man's pockets for an ID, his fingers brushing against a leather wallet, pulling it out, he flipped it open to find a name that made his eyes widen.
"Salvatore"
The name was synonymous with power and influence in the city, The Salvatore's weren't just rich—they were untouchable, their empire stretching across industries. To cross a Salvatore was to invite ruin, and Damien knew this man was no ordinary victim, as a sly grin spread across Damien's face
"Well, well," he muttered
"What's someone like you doing in a place like this?"
The man's bloodshot eyes fluttered open for a brief moment, catching Damien's smirk before he finally passed out.
Damien didn't waste time, he dialed for an ambulance and the police, giving them the location before stepping back into the shadows, his mind, already racing with possibilities.
XXXX
Hours later, Damien lay sprawled on his bed, the events of the night playing on a loop in his mind, even though he was no stranger to danger or intrigue, but tonight felt different. Something about this opportunity kept him awake.
Just as sleep began to take hold, a sharp, otherworldly sound jolted him awake, a man stood in the center of his room, his skin was pale, almost translucent, and he groaned in agony as he staggered forward.
"Help…me" the man rasped, collapsing to the floor.
Damien scrambled out of bed, his heart pounding, he barely had time to react before a strange silver liquid began seeping from the man's nose, mouth, and ears, moving unnaturally, pooling together as if it were alive.
"What the—"
Before Damien could finish, the liquid surged toward him, moving with a predatory intent, it slithered up his legs, finding every crevice and orifice, forcing its way into his body.
Pain exploded in his chest, and Damien screamed, collapsing to the floor, his veins felt like they were on fire as the liquid coursed through him, merging with his very essence.
Darkness consumed him, and the last thing he remembered was the sound of his own ragged breathing as the world turned to nothingness.
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