Cage-fighting wasn’t a publicly sanctioned event; a fact which increased its popularity among certain demographics. As with all human enterprises there were rules. Fighters couldn’t leave the ring until the fight had reached a satisfactory conclusion. The referee’s ruling was absolute. Death matches were prohibited. Death was messy. Death meant corpses and corpses were bad for publicity. Corpses brought in law enforcement. The arena would have to relocate and that was expensive.
This particular establishment, which will remain nameless for reasons of security, was located somewhere in the warehouse district. There was nothing to distinguish it from the other buildings in the district. The upper level was filled with rubbish, broken glass, dated machinery, and homelessness. The lower level was an arena with an official capacity of 2,000 spectators. Headliners drew in significantly larger crowds. The floor had been stripped of concrete and filled with packed dirt. A wire cage 22 feet by 22 feet surrounded the combat area. Two bulky and nearly indistinguishable guards stood watch by the doors. They were equipped with armor and stun gun batons. Blood stained the ringside seats.
Damien sat in the first row. His thigh pressed against Naida’s smoothly shaven one and the trousered leg of an unknown male in his early 20s. In the beginning he’d been good to point out things to his uninitiated date but after the first fight he’d ceased commentary. His moods shifted notably from one moment to the next. At times he seemed disinterested in the whole affair. At times his brows knitted together with vexation. At times his attention was captivated by his dates’ shapely thighs. At times his attention drifted to the stranger crushed up against him. His date noted the manner in which he regarded the young man, the “accidental caresses”, the secretive smiles but he said nothing.
The announcer called out two names “Dread and Sammael”. The uproar was immediate. This was to be the evening’s main event. Dread was a crowd favorite. 40 to 0. Dread was indifferent to the audience, to the guards, to the blood-soaked arena. He saw only his opponent. The crowd fell silent during Sammael’s introduction. An unknown fighter against the reigning champion? It was unprecedented. Sammael was built for war. A Greek statue manifested. Sammael was dressed in pteruges and high Roman sandals. He was a figure worthy of mythos. His thick, dark hair was free. His beard was held together by two bronze rings. His manner was confident, oppositional, vaguely animalistic. At 6’5 he tipped the scales at around 240 lbs, all muscle. His appearance suggested human, his presence hinted at something else. He wielded his 7ft long scythe with grotesque ease. The crowd twittered with speculation.
Dread was long, angular, and viciously defined. His torso was a skein of scars. He was dressed in a simple, animal skin loincloth. Much of his body was exposed from his hips to his flanks to the swelling of his genitalia. Unlike his opponent he wasn’t handsome in the traditional sense the one exception being his eyes which were the color of amethysts. His features were too narrow, too haunted, the scars scattered over his scarecrow-like body too deep. His black hair was wild. Unlike Sammael who bore the natural arrogance of a proud fighter, Dread suffered neither insecurity nor inflation of ego, only an unnerving and unrelenting pureness of intent. He carried no visible weapons. Both fighters assumed a defensive stance several feet between them. “May the best man win…” Dread offered his voice was rich and deep but carried only so far as was required for his opponent’s benefit. “And so he shall…” Sammael answered smiling broadly.
I believe I posted this before but not the original and not all that I had written. I will share it with you as it was first intended. There will be sex later between men. I am a little hesitant to share one of the sex scenes as it is very strange and very graphic haha