𝐿𝐼𝑀𝐼𝑇𝐿𝐸𝑆𝑆 | 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐊𝐄𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐍

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

—𝐵𝑜𝑏𝑏𝑦—

𝐈

𝐁𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐒 his head smacked against the ring canvas.

He barely got a chance to catch his breath before King Kobra—cheered on by the relentless crowd around them—grabbed the side of his mask and pulled him to his feet.

As soon as his opponent let go of him, Bobby sent a kick toward his thigh. He blocked and dodged a couple of the punches sent toward him, though one managed to connect to his cheek. He recovered quickly—the pain never caught him off-guard.

He ducked from another punch and used both of his hands to grab King Kobra's leg and lift it up in an attempt to ruin his balance. A punch to the head caused him to grunt and let go. Taking his moment of weakness to his advantage, King Kobra sent a few jabs his way.

Bobby managed to get a punch in and dodge one of his before he wrapped his arms around the other man and put him in a clinch.

He kept his stance, ignoring the thumps of an elbow against his back and the taste of metal in his mouth. He couldn't keep this up forever—he was supposed to lose this round, anyway. He wouldn't mind ending it sometime soon.

After a moment, he loosened his arms and took the punches that King Kobra sent. The third one was hard enough to make him fly back down onto the canvas, and he didn't make much effort to get up. There were only a few groans from those who wagered on him—terrible idea—but most of the crowd screamed in delight.

King Kobra leaned down and wrapped his hand around his neck. Bobby grasped his thick forearm in a struggle to retaliate, but his grip was too strong as he pulled him to his feet once more. He let himself go limp as King Kobra lifted him above his head, and the next thing he knew, he was dropped onto the wooden table just outside the ring.

He groaned, though he didn't dare move from the mess he was now on top of. The adrenaline was slowing down, and the pain was catching up. The splinters of wood underneath scratched his skin, and his lower back ached. In his mouth was a disgusting taste—a salty, metallic blend of sweat and blood.

The spectators were going absolutely wild. At this point, Bobby was used to all the screaming and chanting the name of whoever his opponent was. King Kobra particularly was a fan favourite. Kong—not so much.

"Good evening!" greeted Tiger, who had stepped into the ring, to the yelling crowd. "Welcome to Tiger's Temple. This is a sacred space." There was some feedback from the microphone, though Tiger didn't seem to notice as he continued, "Because some of us here are Muslim. Some of us are Hindu. Fuck, maybe there's a closet Christian hiding somewhere there under the rafters."

That was met with boos and downward thumbs from everyone in the stands.

"But we here all worship one god: the Indian rupee!"

As the crowd screamed in response, Bobby slowly got up, ignoring the way his knees cracked and the headache that was beginning to pound at his skull. This was his cue to leave.

"The winner, the killer of the Beast," Tiger raised the arm of the man beside him before declaring: "King Kobra! Look at this maderchod! Look at this! That's the smell of victory right there. Do you smell it? 'Cause I fucking smell it! This is a champion! This is . . ."

The rest of Tiger's words were drowned out by the chanting. Bobby didn't really care. He just wanted to get out of there as fast as he could.

He didn't mind all the people jeering and cursing at him as he walked past them, nor did he really care about whatever drinks or food they tossed at him. It was nothing new; the crowd had always hated him—which was exactly what Tiger wanted. Whatever got him money.