Knockout (Sequel to Dark)

Knockout.

The crowd is becoming restless with the undesired intermission, eager to get back to the fight, but none of them are brave enough to jostle Harry back to the ring. I'm struggling for a good view, using the chair to support my endeavour as anxious perspiration beads my forehead. It's none of my business, I know that, I'm not going to interfere. The pint glass once held by the man is roughly knocked to the floor, its contents spilling over people standing too close.

"Styles, leave it."

He ignores Mack's warning, pressing the man further into the corner. There's no physical contact, just complete intimidation.

"You need to shut the fuck up," Harry spits.

Cowardice overcomes the defenceless male, unable to hold Harry's eye contact.

"Don't hit a punter, Styles. It's bad for business."

The bare foot fighter inches back, allowing Mack to step between and place his hands on Harry's shoulders. He's encouraged further away, much to my relief, and now the huge room trades its bellowing support for almost complete silence.

"Turn around and finish the fight."

Harry cantankerously bats Mack's hands away. I'm not close enough to see his face properly, but people more than willingly part for him to journey back to the ring, so I presume it's more than just a scowl.

Back between the ropes, my hand clamps over my mouth, hiding my frightful inhale of sympathy for the other young fighter. He's clutching his abdomen and staring at Harry in horror as he chillingly approaches. The entire room can predict what's coming next, and with a sickening crack of Harry's fist to the poor boy's face, I know he's not the Harry I left behind.

"KNOCKOUT!"