Dark Attraction~Mattheo Riddle

Chapter 1-|Isabella

<trigger warnings mentions of blood, fighting>

~November~

Chapter 1- Isabella

As the hot, watery liquid ran down my arm, I couldn't help but grin at the sight. I heard people shouting, but the high from the adrenaline pumping through my body didn't allow me any time to process it. I was on autopilot feeling my flight-or-fight mode kicking in, unfortunately my only option was to fight.

My opponent was taller and much larger than me with impressive muscles and abs, but he was about to have one hell of an ugly face. I smirked at the thought of my fist going straight at his face, I felt the thrill of excitement as the fight continued.

Yes he had the physical advantage but those didn't give him the upper hand against my quick reflexes and strategic thinking. I was faster and smarter in my movements, like a predator playing with its latest prey. dodging his right hook as if it were nothing before unleashing my counterattack.

Sending a punch of my own and I felt the sense of satisfaction as the impact sent him staggering back. I used this to my advantage, using quick and precise strikes to wear him down. With each successful hit, I felt a twisted sense of pleasure, as if knowing the more damage and pain I inflicted, the more I proved my worth.

I lunged at him, kicking his left ankle with a swift and calculated motion that sent him tumble to the dirty floor with dried blood everywhere from previous fights. The sight of him on the ground was pathetic, and I felt a deep sense of satisfaction as I jumped on his back and folded his right arm behind his back. Pushing him to his breaking point.

He knew as well as I did he had no choice but to tap out as I could easily brake his arm in this position, the thought sent chills down my back and I felt a sense of superiority knowing that I had overpowered a grown man as a 16-year-old girl. The absurdity of the situation made me laugh, and I revelled in the feeling of being a female force to be reckoned with.

The sound of the referee's whistle yanked me back to reality. I could hear the crowd cheering and screaming louder than I could hear my own thoughts. My heart was pounding so hard that I felt it in my ears. I got off the floor, my legs shaky, and stood next to the referee, waiting eagerly for him to raise my arm in victory. Suddenly, he shouted my underground fighting name, "Scarlet Ember," and the crowd went wild. The noise was deafening and overwhelming, but the feeling of satisfaction I had knowing that I had won was a great feeling.

I've won almost every fight I've signed up for, but that wasn't always the case. It took years of training, practice, and failing before I became the fighter I am today. I grew up on the streets, having to fight just to survive. But I never gave up, no matter how hard it got. I refused to tap out, even when I had nothing left to lose. To me, fighting wasn't just a means to an end; it was a way of life.

There's something indescribable about the adrenaline rush of being in the ring, with nothing but your opponent's bones cracking beneath you and their screams for mercy in your ears. It's addicting, the feeling of being the superior fighter, of having the power to end a fight with a single punch knowing that your the only one Standing between life and death for your opponent.

And as much as I hate to admit it, there's this satisfaction that comes with making someone else submit to your will. It makes me feel powerful, invincible, like I'm in control.

But deep down, I know that it's not just the fight that I'm addicted to. It's the feeling of being alive, of being pushed to my limits and coming out on top. And if I have to risk my life for that feeling, then so be it. I won't ever give up. Not now, not ever. I had this weird rule, the only way I leave the ring was either with money or by death. Yes it was extreme but I didn't have anything else in my life that gave me that feeling.