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The seven trumpets

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Synopsis
I got called into heaven. God told me to witness the apocalypse, and so I did.
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Chapter 1 - Ch. 1–John

June 7, 2003, Somewhere in Arkansas. A boy perched on a man's shoulder anxiously gripped the man's hair–presumably the father's.

"Pa, he's going to lose! Ward is!"

The child tugs harder.

"He WILL not, okay?"

Under normal circumstances, the father would've long knocked a fist on the boy's head, if not for the fact that his eyes were also glued to the CRT TV.

"He'll not, he'll not"

He mutters to himself as he nervously tap his foot on the wooden floor; biting on his thumbnail with a frown plastered all over his face.

"He's just settin' up his left hook to the body, just wait!"

Contrary to his hopes, Micky Ward would lose the trilogy fight by a unanimous decision.

"FUCK, my hundred dollars"

The father wails outside their home. Clearly not because his country's fighter lost, but due to him losing his money on a bet.

"Whoa"

Yet the child stared at the black screen with an awed face. This had been the third time that this ever happen. His heart pounding the same way he felt watching the first two fights of the legendary war between two legends. For the four year old boy, this exhilaration was new and addicting– he wanted more.

"Pa, I wanna be like 'em!"

The boy scurried off outside to follow his father and tell him of his new fixation with a toothy grin. At first, the father reluctantly agreed thinking this was just a fleeting passion just like with the kid's obsession of baseball a few months ago which he easily abandoned but....

13 Years later

"John's being led in the backfoot!"

"You wouldn't want to see that on a slugger boxer!"

"Landers got him where he wants him!"

Thud~

A slam of the desk as the announcer in a suit sputtered his spit all over the mic

"What are you doin'!?"

"GET OUT OF THE CORNER!"

That same father was now his trainer. Yelling at the top of his lungs, fully concerned and invested to the fighter atop the ring.

Tak tak tak~

"Just ten more seconds, keep those gloves up!"

Amidst the flurry of devastating blows, John– donning a red 12 Oz gloves– is too busy being smothered in the corner of the ring, his opponent's face, steady and calm as he pummels John with jabs and straights, try as he might to duck under the one and twos to shift to a better position, an uppercut will intercept to keep his head up– this was a clear domination.

Ding ding~

That's the end for round two for the amateur golden gloves finals of the welterweight division!

With the clear sign of the round ending, the two fighters with their years of training instinctively stopped the moment they heard the bell and went towards their respective corners.

"Son, do YOU hear me?"

As the 17 year old sat on the stool, his father immediately slithers through the rope and sprinkled water on John's face.

"This is the final round and he's got you beat by two rounds!"

"He's become complacent, thinks he could he could beat you with just his jab and straights!"

Tap tap~

He lightly slaps his fighter's cheek who was zoning out.

"Focus! I want you to knock 'im out when he sends a full straight y'hear me?"

"Yeah"

Two rounds in and the kid was afflicted with tunnel vison, his breathing became labored as he mindlessly nods. His thighs and shoulders were burning, the water barely doing anything as he spits it out on his legs.

Ding ding~

Round three!

The referee shouts in the middle of the ring.

"One chance"

His father held up one finger before he got up the stool.

"You've got this son"

His father sends him away with a look of concern, but there's nothing he could do once a fighter is in the ring but pray; pray that his son would be safe and come out on top.

Tap~

With one final show of respect for each other, the boxers' tap each other's gloves for the final round.

"No circling and no feeling-out"

"This is the final round of the mid-south regional for the golden gloves finals!"

The announcer hypes up the arena as the lights dimmed all over to one single spot– the ring.

"Will Landers keep the crocodile at bay just like the previous two rounds?"

"Or will we see John finally pop off and pull the maestro in his swamp?"

"We'll soon see!"

With three minutes to make a comeback–John hastily closes the distance, his thighs burning in protest but.....

"Oh~ Landers lands a jab straight through the guard and into the forehead"

"He's too predictable, looks like Landers will set the pace once more"

"Until we see some final adjustments from John, he'll keep getting those jabs"

The announcer remarks with a disappointed tone.

"That's it John, let 'im get more"

On the red corner, his father gnaws at his thumbnail. The pair were waiting.

John's POV

'That's it, keep it comin' I know your thirstin' to throw that straight'

Flurries of blurred blue figures kept coming at his guard, some hit his forehead, while most blocked by his peek-a-boo guard. At this point, he couldn't bob and weave, his legs were too burned out and even if he tried, it would be sluggish and he'll just be pincushion'd.

'There!'

It was just a slight tension, but John with his years of training and sparring– saw the tiny frame of his opponent's relaxed right shoulder tensing up for a punch. A straight!

'Hit him!'

Gambling it all in that one moment, John ducks and throws an overhand, his eyes set straight to the opponent's opened chin.....and everything went black.

Audience POV

The punch landed with a sickening crunch of leather and flesh. John's head snapped up for a moment before his body went limp– like a puppet cut of its strings.

"A vicious uppercut!"

"John ducked down and was met with a right uppercut!"

The announcer leaned in as he shouts at the mic; before dying down on his seat, suddenly realizing that this is a youth amateur match. The audience were the same; some went up to their feet only to sink back down upon seeing the vicious knockout.

"SON!"

Only the sound of a grieving father and the ringside medical staff could be heard shuffling to the ring.