Rumours say that at some point, Zivan grew bored of combat sambo. It wasn't enough for him, so he joined the Hand of the Republic, Rusvenia's most elite military force. After serving his contract, he walked away, claiming it was too easy for him.
Then, he was approached to enter the AOTG. Finally, he would be able to test himself against the best.
———
The fight began, and instantly I charged forward, refusing to play defence against such a massive, dangerous man.
Zivan stood like a fortress, unmoving as I closed the distance. A brick wall in human form.
I planted my front foot in the sand, pivoted my back leg, and unleashed the most devastating straight punch I could muster.
WHACK.
My fist slammed into Zivan's abdomen. Pain seared through my calloused knuckles, and the impact vibrated my entire skeleton.
Zivan barely flinched, his body shifting only slightly.
I wasn't done. If this giant was going to just let me hit him, I'd make him regret it.
Two jabs snapped at his abs, followed by an overhand punch that crashed into his chin like a wrecking ball.
My form was far from textbook, but my punches carried raw power from my countless fights.
Zivan's head snapped back, and he stumbled a step. But the damage was nowhere near what it should've been. A punch like that would've slept lesser men.
He reset his stance, glaring down at me from his towering height.
"Look at that!" Announcer 1 roared. "Red's strikes have no effect on the Northern Bear!"
The crowd erupted, their cheers getting on my nerves. I gritted my teeth, hiding my frustration.
"Give up, and Zivan will not hurt you," he rumbled, his deep voice thick with his Rusvenian accent.
"Fuck that," I spat.
I dashed forward again, landing a brutal kick to his thigh, followed by a jab and a straight, both thudding into his jaw.
Zivan staggered slightly. Strikes to the jaw rattled the brain, so I suspected he would be dizzy.
Seizing the moment, I ducked low and dove for his leg. If he wouldn't fight back, I'd drag him to the sand using all my weight and pound his face into mush.
My arms locked around his leg, my shoulder driving into him as I pulled. But it was like trying to uproot a tree. He didn't budge an inch.
"Red's going for a takedown!" Announcer 1 shouted. "Can he topple the professional grappler?"
I knew the answer: no chance.
Then, I felt it. Two massive arms wrapping around my waist from above, trapping me as I tried to retreat. His grip crushed my ribs, and stole the air from my lungs.
My feet left the ground. Held upside down, I was weightless for a moment before Zivan hurled me to the side like an unwanted toy.
The wind roared past me as I flew for over two seconds, crashing onto my shoulder.
The sand scraped my skin, kicking up a cloud of dust. My shoulder popped, maybe dislocated by the impact.
There's no way... he threw me that easily?
Thud, thud, thud.
Rapid, heavy footsteps charged toward me.
I rolled to my feet, snapping into my boxing stance despite the screaming pain in my shoulder.
Zivan barrelled forward, his right fist swinging in a devastating arc. I ducked just in time, his punch's wind nearly knocking me off balance.
He recovered instantly, his leg whipping out in a low sweeping kick aimed at my ankle.
The strike swept my foot from the sand, leaving me wobbling on one leg. Zivan dove, his arms clamping around my waist again.
I tried to escape his grip, but his strength was overwhelming. He lifted me six feet into the air and slammed me onto the sand with bone-rattling force.
The impact drove the air from my lungs, my vision blurring. All I could see was a massive pale figure looming over me, it's foot raised to crush my skull.
I rolled once, then twice, dodging the stomp. The arena shook as his foot hit the sand, or at least it seemed to.
Scrambling to my feet, I clutched my stomach, the pain intense. If he attacked now, there would be nothing I could do to defend myself.
But Zivan just stood there, staring.
"How did a boy like you win your first fight?" he asked sincerely. "You must have a special move. Show me, or you die."
He charged, head low, moving with terrifying speed for a 120-kg giant.
His taunt had bought me a moment to catch my breath, but my body ached from the slams.
How did I win my first fight, or even my 143 street fights?
Was I stronger than them all, and had only now met my match?
No... It wasn't just strength. It was my ability to adapt, and my hunger for violence.
My eyes flicked to the blood-stained sand, flashing back to Leo's opponent; face pulverised, eye bulging.
Violence. That's what sets me apart.
Zivan barreled toward me, eyes locked on mine, undeterred.
I stepped forward, kicking up a cloud of sand to obscure his vision. It didn't slow him. He was adamant on destroying me, blind or not.
As he emerged from the dust, I scooped a handful of sand and flung it directly into his face. His vision faltered, but he kept coming, arms outstretched to grab me.
I had to trust my striking against a blinded giant.
Zivan lunged, head low. I leapt, driving my knee as high as I could.
It smashed into his face with a sickening crunch, like bone splintering.
The crowd gasped, but Zivan didn't falter.
The knee had broken something, maybe his nose, but he powered through, seizing me in his iron grip for a third time.
I braced for another slam, knowing escape was impossible. But instead, he hurled me upward with terrifying force.
As I soared, I dreaded the crash to the sand, but that wasn't his plan.
Zivan leapt, his massive knee rising to meet me. It collided with my face mid-air, a thunderclap of pain exploding through my skull.
My world went dark. I thought I was dead.
The fight was over.