His finger lightly touches the bottom of my chin, and he pushes my face upwards so that I'm looking into his eyes. Eyes that are solely on my lips.
I can't help it. I bite them.
"Oh, Delta," he whispers, quietly giggling under his breath. His laugh...
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It's loud as I squeeze my way past the many bodies hollering and jumping around the Knockout ring. I push other people out of the way, mumbling a hasty apology as I budge to get to the front of the audience.
"Sorry. E-excuse me. Watch your step. Sorry!"
Jere Martell—the Resurrector—and Foster Prince: tonight's unlucky outsider. My stomach churns at the thought of someone losing to a guy that size.
"C'mon, Jere! Kick his ass!" someone shouts.
"Destroy him!" another one yells.
Under the spotlight, another figure emerges from the crowd. He's wearing a black hoodie, his face inked with streaks of dark paint, and his sweater is zipped down the middle showing off his bare chest.
I squint my eyes to get a better look at him, suddenly realizing that he was the one I'd bumped into. The hood of his sweatshirt is off of his head, exposing tasseled brown hair lazily combed to the side. When he takes off his sweater, the loose fabric falls to the floor, revealing muscles rippling beneath his skin. I gawk at the tattoo displayed on his chest; a thin line of ink, drawn right over his heart.
"Give it up for tonight's competitors!" the MC yells. On cue, the entire crowd screams, causing me to cover my ears with my palms to avoid going deaf. "Let's go over the rules; no whining, no crying, no backing out. You get into this fight, you don't automatically get out. To quit is to lose, and we certainly don't do that here now, do we gentlemen?"
The Resurrector grunts in agreement. Foster Prince gives a clipped nod, keeping his eyes on the MC.
"This Knockout goes on until one of you is knocked out. If you knock the other guy out unconscious and still go for him, you're automatically disqualified."
It's quiet, but I can hear the far end of the audience begin to chant. It spreads like a cold, and soon, the people right beside me are chanting along too. Fight, fight, fight, fight...
"Alright fellas. You two ready?" the MC asks. "Who am I kidding? Of course you are!" he yells. "Well?" he begins. "Fight!"
Not even a second after he says it, the first punch is thrown in Foster's direction by the almighty Resurrector, grunting when he realises he missed his target. His opponent is already opposite of him in the ring, his hands raised and at the ready.
"What're you waiting for? Punch him already!" a man standing beside me yells. The scent of booze is strong on him, and I resist the urge to throw up, swallowing the bile rising in my throat.
The Resurrector goes for Foster Prince, once again missing him when his opponent swiftly moves to the side and punches him in the jaw. Black gloves that are missing the fingers reveal dirty plaster wrapped around part of his palms and over his joints, covering up the scabs and bruises on his skin.
