Now inside the dressing room of Gatou Underground Fighting Club, Brandon stripped himself to just a pair of boxers. The rules demanded it, to show off the rippling muscles and savage nature of necrolyzed brutes.
He grinned when the name of his opponent fleeted across his mind. Bartel Smith. The man who tried to make a little girl fight in an arena for his personal gain deserved another round of beating before his second death.
"You're very lucky that you're a loan shark. Then you chased a normal-looking dog across the streets with a big-ass axe. To cap it all off, Boss did really well in getting people so hyped up about Bartel," Albert told him with a smile. "If the civilians bet against Bartel instead, I bet Mr. Wong will want you to lose just so that he'll get a lot of money."
Wriggling her tail, Nancy yipped. Brandon crouched to stroke the pup's head.
"I mean, Mr. Wong is really serious about this. The committee didn't even have a problem letting Nancy in, you know? 'Brandon could use more supporters,' they said." Albert looked at his wristwatch. "Hmm, I think you still have some time for warming up."
Brandon first thought of doing a few one-handed knuckle push-ups, but then he had an idea with the metal lockers in the room. Approaching the leftmost one, he jumped and hooked his hand on its top. Too bad the object was placed just too close to the wall, so he couldn't hook his foot and do upside down ab crunches instead.
As he did pull-ups, someone knocked on the door. Looking to his right, he saw Albert open the door and greet Biscoe.
"Are you ready?" Biscoe stepped into the room. "Bartel is already heading to the ring."
Brandon hissed. His heartbeat hadn't even risen a bit, and he had yet to sweat! But if he really had to go now, then fine; thrashing Bartel sounded fun, too. So he dropped down, nodded and left the room with Biscoe. Albert and Nancy followed him.
As they walked along the bright hallway, Biscoe patted Brandon on the back. "Just stall him for one minute. I'm sure that you'll win once the weapons come."
Brandon flashed Biscoe a smile and nodded. Things sounded easy peasy.
The end of the hallway came to his sight. Brandon could hear the cheering spectators as he approached the open double door. Bartel - now a gray-haired giant like him - stood still, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed.
"Took you long enough," he began. "I can't wait to make you pay for what you've done to me." He looked at Biscoe. "Also, your boss has promised to let me take over your position in Millennion if I win."
Brandon halted. His muscles tensed, his jaw dropped, his eye widened. Then he looked at Biscoe, whose face was an impassive mask. Behind him Albert stood, shocked just like Brandon. Nancy's angry barks came from beside him.
Bartel only laughed. "You have such a bad boss."
Blasphemy! Roaring, Brandon sprang at Bartel, seized his head and slammed his skull against the wall again and again.
"Stop!"
Brandon went on, not caring whether the shout came from Biscoe or Albert. The dent on the wall grew larger as more cracks appeared.
He stopped abruptly when a tight grip seized his leg. His hand left Bartel's face and revealed a wicked grin.
Bartel threw Brandon away. The spectators roared in excitement as he ripped across the air like a missile and landed on the ring. Getting up, he saw Bartel jump over the ropes.
Where was the referee? The introduction? The bell?
Ah, screw formality! The crowd was cheering.
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Twisted Death
FanfictionBrandon had lost an eye, an arm and a leg. Also, he was dead. But it took more than that to stop Brandon "Beyond the Grave" Heat. Reanimated and gifted with the immense strength and endurance of the undead, he dedicated himself to protecting his fam...
