Heaven

Chapter 4 - The Mask of Violence

The air in the underground boxing ring was thick with sweat, smoke, and adrenaline. The crowd was a mass of shadows, their cheers and jeers echoing off the grimy walls. Under the harsh lights, two fighters stood in the center of the ring, circling each other like predators. One of them was Richard "The Reaper" Thompson, his body coiled with tension, his eyes locked on his opponent—Carlos "The Rattlesnake" Martinez.

Carlos was grinning, his lips twisted in a sinister smile, taunting Richard with every flick of his gloves. His movements were quick, sharp, like the venomous strike of a snake. But Richard didn’t flinch. Not yet. He had too much on the line. He had come too far to let fear creep in now.

*This is it,* Richard thought as the bell rang. *No turning back.*

The first round began, and both fighters danced around each other, throwing jabs like they were testing the waters. Richard’s fists were solid, each punch carrying the weight of years of training. He landed a few solid shots, the crowd roaring with every hit. But Carlos was quick, dodging, weaving, and returning fire with vicious blows to Richard’s ribs. The hits stung, but Richard grit his teeth, absorbing the pain.

Then, it happened. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through Richard’s head, making his vision blur for a split second. He blinked hard, shook it off, and kept moving. *Not now,* he told himself. *Keep going.*

But with every punch, the pain returned, stronger and more insistent. He could feel the throbbing in his skull, the weariness in his muscles. By the end of the first round, he was slowing down, his movements less fluid. Sweat dripped from his face, his breaths coming out ragged.

The bell rang for the break. Richard stumbled back to his corner, collapsing on the stool. Ana, his wife, was there, her face a mask of concern. She pressed a cold towel to his face, her eyes pleading.

“Richard, you need to stop,” she said, her voice trembling. “You’re not okay. I can see it. Don’t push yourself.”

Richard’s head hung low, his breathing heavy. “I’ve invested too much into this, Ana. We need the win. I need the win.”

“This isn’t worth your life!” she insisted, desperation creeping into her voice. “Please, listen to me!”

But Richard’s mind was already made up. He wiped the blood from his mouth, glancing at Carlos across the ring. The Rattlesnake was grinning, full of energy, his hands twitching in anticipation of the next round.

“I can take him,” Richard muttered, almost to himself. “I can still take him.”

The bell rang again. Richard rose from his stool, his legs shaky but determined. The third round was on, and this time, Richard came out swinging. His punches were harder, faster, connecting with Carlos’s jaw and body. The Rattlesnake was on the defensive, retreating under the assault. The crowd erupted, chanting Richard’s name as he began to dominate.

With every strike, Richard felt a surge of hope. This was it. He was turning the tide.

But then Carlos’s eyes flashed with something dark, and in an instant, the Rattlesnake switched tactics. He ducked under one of Richard’s punches, then came up hard with a brutal uppercut to the side of Richard’s head. The pain exploded behind Richard’s eyes, and his vision went white. He staggered, but Carlos didn’t let up. He hammered Richard’s head again, and again, each blow pounding like a sledgehammer.

The crowd’s cheers became muffled, distant, as Richard’s body betrayed him. His legs buckled, and his arms dropped to his sides. He could hear Ana’s voice screaming his name, but it was fading, swallowed by the roaring in his ears.

One final punch to the temple, and Richard collapsed. His body hit the canvas like dead weight, unmoving.

The crowd went silent. The ref rushed in, kneeling beside Richard, waving his hands to stop the fight.