Of Smoke and Stardust [[COMPLETE]]]

CHAPTER 2-PARKER

        The crowd cheered as Parker's fist connected to his opponent's face. The smell of sweat and the coppery tang of blood soaked the air so thickly; it was a part of Parker's natural scent.

            The boy hit the ground, hard. Parker stomped up to him, already in a foul mood that he ended up getting stuck fighting a newbie kid. If the crowd doesn't like the show...Parker couldn't bear to continue the thought—the resulting punishment. It would be his back getting a whipping.

            "C'man, kid. You have'ta do better than that." Parker pulled his foot back and barreled it into the kid's side.

            "I—" He choked when Parker's foot hit his ribs and curled up, pulling his fists up to protect his face. "I don't want to fight!"

            "You fight or we die, kid." Parker didn't have time to give the kid a lecture on how things worked in the arena. He reeled back for another kick.

        "N—no!" The kid tightened up into a ball and wheezed. "I shouldn't be here—I—" he broke off as Parker's foot hit his shoulder, sending him rolling across the arena floor. Concrete shards skittering around. The fighting floor was never made for safety or support; it was made for scrapping and tearing at anything it touched. Parker's body was familiar with it on a personal level after getting pounded into it so many times.

        "C'man, Kid. If we don't give a good show, it'll end really bad for the both of us." Parker growled, grabbing the kid's hair and yanking his face up. Parker hated doing shit like that, but the crowd had a sick sense of entertainment and enjoyed a stronger opponent grinding a weaker one. "That includes your brother too," he added. He knew he needed to get this kid up for fighting and he didn't mind using dirty tactics like threatening his brother.

            That finally set the kid off. Before Parker could punch him in the face, he lunged, tackling Parker to the arena floor with a loud WHAM! The cheers crested as Parker brought his guard up and blocked the punches aimed for his head. His bare back screamed; his skin grating into the pavement, sharp specks of rock sunk into his flesh.

        "Good." Parker gritted through his teeth before locking his right leg around the boy's waist and flipping them over.  "But you'll have to do better." He wound up and punched the kid in the head, then the sides. He didn't want to break any bones, so he aimed at the fleshiest parts—which were limited on a starving body.

        The kid curled up into a ball and Parker cursed. "No, no, no. You need to fight back!"

        "I—" The kid choked and curled up tighter. "Can't!" He wailed.

        The crowd was getting restless. They started screaming things like 'finish him' 'break his neck'. And added the additional 'booing', when neither was happening fast enough.

        Shit. Parker cursed. He had to get this match over with quick. He wouldn't be able to knock the kid out with him protecting his head. With another string of expletives, Parker grabbed the kids arm and rolled them over into a wrestling hold, slamming the kid's face into the concrete. Blood splattered from the kid's newly split lip.

        The roaring of the crowd soared. Cheering and jeering encompassed the room; the excitement and blood lust was so thick in the air, it was tangible.

        The kid under him slammed on the mat with his free arm; the signal that he was giving up—at least in a normal fight, in any other place except Mallowmont. Poor sod, there is no giving up in the arena, Parker thought.

        From the corner of his eye, Parker saw the guards move. They usually didn't take action unless someone died, or an audience member did something stupid, like try to get into the cage. Something was clearly wrong. Parker released his grip very slightly so the kid could breathe.

        Whatever. He thought. It wasn't his problem. If anything, he hoped the whole place was about to blow. Will serve everyone right.

        The crowd groaned, aggravated that there wasn't enough blood and violence with him keeping the poor kid in an arm lock on the ground.

        "Sorry Kid, our job is to give the people what they want." With a quick jerk, Parker wrenched the kid's arm out of his socket. The kid's screams blended in with the crowd's cheers.

        Parker rolled up, wincing slightly at the motion. One of his ribs was bruised and his scuffs from the previous bout were still tender and scabbing.

        C'man... get up. He urged, circling the boy in the ring. They wouldn't call the fight until the audience was satisfied. An un-socketed arm wouldn't end the fight. It was easily fixed. But it always made the crowd go wild.

        Suddenly, the door to the cage opened and two guards trampled through—big burly guys, with electric rods.

        Parker backed up few paces and held his hands up so they didn't have an excuse to knock him around. The fight wasn't over. The kid was barely bloodied that badly. There was no reason for them to be there unless they were going to rile things up.

        One of the guards picked the kid up, none too gently, leaving smears of blood on the mat as he dragged him out by his good arm. The kid was sniffling and moaning, but at least he'd live to fight again. At least they'd both live to fight again. Hopefully.

        Inhaling a lungful of coppery air, Parker turned to the audience and raised his arm—his usual victory fist pump. But instead of the audience going wild with his victory, there was no response. Everything had suddenly fallen silent.

        What the hell is happening?

        Frowning, Parker squinted past the metal fence. The whole place was on high alert. The gallery was being evacuated. His stomach sank a little. If the place did end up being blown to pieces, he'd be killed too. There was no way they'd evacuate prisoners that weren't even in the books. Illegal fighting slaves were disposable, and easily replaced.

        A guard snagged Parker's arm and shoved him towards the exit. "Move it, scum!"

        Parker pulled away and swaggered out of the arena, through the exit and down the concrete ramp. The large metals doors closed behind them, instantly silencing the chaos on the other side.  The brisk air-conditioned air cut off, replaced by the smoggy, dampness of the underground prison. The smell of moldy concrete replaced the salty scent of sweat, blood and bodies.