ARES

Prologue

5 years earlier

Ares

"Come on, boy! Move your lazy ass! You're supposed to make me a shit ton of money tonight, get fucking ready now!" I hear his angry voice over the music that blasts from the speakers in my room.

"Fuck off!" I scream back. In my head, I start counting to three.
One, two, th-

"How fucking dare you talking to me like that?! You do as I say. Now!"
His fists bang against my door and I warily watch the thin wood that slightly bends under the force of his blows.

I pray that the lock won't break. I need that. It's the only thing that keeps me safe from him and his fucking abuse.

"And turn that stupid music down! If I have to repeat myself one more fucking time, you can say goodbye to your ridiculous stereo and your trashy music!"

I scoff. I can probably say goodbye to my consciousness when I fuck this up.
I drop on my bed and take a deep breath, raking my fingers through my hair. I don't want to go there again. But it'll be even worse when I refuse. I can't risk losing my stereo nor my albums. They're the only things keeping me sane.

Somehow.

Accepting my fate in defeat once more, I change and throw one of the two bags over my shoulder. In those bags I keep everything I need. I refuse to unpack my clothes into this filthy old wardrobe that smells like mold.

This place is not my home and it never will be but still, the small room he put me in transformed into some sort of forced sanctuary when I finally had enough money to buy my music.

"For fuck's sake!" With his angry outburst, the banging on my door continues. Without saying a word, I step out of my room and lock the door behind me coming face to face with a very angry man.

"About fucking time. You turning into a girl or why are you taking so long?" I smell the smoke and the alcohol on him and his mucous laugh makes me want to throw up.

I can't bring myself to look at him and his stained wife beater shirt along with the golden chain that sits around his fat neck. Disgusting. Goosebumps rise all over my body and I surpress the shiver that already tingles my spine.

"Move!" he pushes me from behind and makes me stumble. I catch myself just in time before I fall down the wooden stairs.

"Fucking loser! You gonna fall that fast in the ring too, or what?"

I ignore him the best I can but I can't deny that each word that falls from his lips cuts deeper in my already scarred soul.

He shoves me in his rusty almost broke down car and starts the engine.
I feel the anxiety creep up on me and I clench my sweaty fists. The car reeks of alcohol and the streets are dark. His headlights are as dim as his fucking brain and he's passed the speed limit already.

One hand on the steering wheel, the other one fumbling his phone.
"Fucking keep your hands on the wheel," I dare say because what I feel is not anxiety anymore. It's fear. Fear for my life as I see the bright headlights ahead of us.

I don't want to die. Not when I've barely even lived.

"You scared? Ha! Fucking pussy! Poor boy is scared... Wanna call your mommy?" His ugly laugh rings through the car as he lifts his second hand from the wheel in provocation.

I swallow hard trying to keep my eyes fixed on the road. My heart is beating like crazy and my fingers tremble. I'm drenched in cold sweat but refrain from shouting, terrified of the consequences if we make it out alive.

Just ignore him, he'll lose interest. It'll pass. I clench my eyes shut when the other car passes and honks wildly at us.

"Open your fucking eyes and stop acting like a bitch!"

I slowly open them and let out a shaky breath. I can feel my heartbeat in my throat and my mouth is as dry as if I was starved of water for days.
My fingers turned white from how firm my grip is around my sports bag.

"We're here. Get out and man the fuck up. You're a fucking disgrace!"

Fuck, I still need to fight. I need to calm myself, otherwise I'll lose the fight and the money that's bet on me.

We drive here every Saturday and from all the illegal shit that goes down here, the drive is what drains me the most. I don't know how that fucker managed to get a license. He probably didn't.

The shaggy old club is a familiar sight. The flickering red neon sign welcomes me once more in misery. The only women here are the ones that dance half naked on poles or the ones that serve beer to men like him. Also half naked.

It wouldn't surprise me to find my mom here. If you can even call her that.

"Get ready. You're next." That's all he says before sitting down in a booth next to his friends. They are all the same. Violent, misogynistic, addicted assholes.

I make my way through the crowd feeling like a prey. The filthy men watch me, calculating if I'm worth betting on. Judging my body, the muscles, the bruises from last week that haven't faded yet.

I can hear him promoting me, desperate to gain more men on our side. More men mean more bets. More bets mean more money that I have yet to see a fair part of. Like I'm a robot, a fighting machine. Not a fucking human being.

Naked girls touch me in places where I don't want to be touched when I pass them by. I feel nauseous, my skin pricking at all the unknown sensations I've grown to hate. Hands are all over me while I reach the cage in the middle.

The floor is sticky from alcohol and vomit and it smells like sex and sweat.
I stand in the spotlight surrounded by iron bars and feel everyone's eyes on me.

"Good evening, my gentlemen! Welcome to tonight's fight. In the right corner, we have our winner from last time LUCIFER!"
Loud screaming and hollering echoes through the bar and I hear the bets that are still being made.

I hate it here. I don't want to do this. Save me! I internally scream, hoping someone, whoever it might be, hears me. Because right now, in the cage under the hot spotlight, I'm starting to think there's not a single soul on this planet that will get me out of this misery.

"Tonight's opponent is... JUDAS!" The cheers continue and as soon as my rival enters, the door falls close behind us.

Fuck. That's the worst turn the night could've taken.

I'm trapped with that giant monster of a man. I'm not too small myself standing at 6'3 but that guy still beats me by 3 or 4 inches.
I see the vicious scar that runs from his eyebrow all the way down to his lips that send a sinister smile my way.

I try to push away all the thoughts that cloud my brain. I need to win this. I need to focus. Now is not the time for unnecessary stress or feelings.

I take my fighting stance and prepare for the starting signal. A gun shot. I remember how I flinched at the loud sound that echoed through the hall the first few times I was brought here. By now I've grown used to the ringing in my ears.

BANG!

The game is on.

My opponent slowly comes closer, cornering me. I stay calm, analysing his moves. My chances aren't so bad. He's taller, heavier, slower than I am. I expect him to blindly strike like he always does but before I can even register what's going on I see a sharp blade reflect in the light.

Pain. Excruciating pain.

That's all I feel right now. My rib cage burns with every breath that I take.

Fuck! That bastard! I'm still clutching my side and I'm immediately met with the sticky texture that I know all too well.

Blood.

I feel myself sink to my knees, doubled over in pain and anger as the voices around me melt together in a faraway blur. The last thing I see is his evil smile before everything turns black and I finally know why they call him Judas.