Series - Shorts: Shorts are short one off stories done by request of the person generally in the story. Meaning, they will be self contained even if they have characters from other stories. Good for when you are looking for a quick fight that won't hurt your eyes reading for a long time.
Teaser: Two bitter rivals. Years of bad blood. One forgotten alley. Celticfire and Unbroken have tried settled their differences in rings, cages, and underground fights, but tonight there are no rules, no referees, and nobody to stop the violence. Just bare fists, brutal punches, and a whole lot of unfinished business. Two men enter. Only one gets to walk away with his pride intact.
Philadelphia, 1995.
The city had fallen into that peculiar, almost dull silence, that only existed in the hours just after midnight. Slightly past the witching hour, but not really what people would call "morning" yet. It was the time reserved for when the drunks had mostly staggered home (mostly), the bars were shutting their doors to clean up the chaos, and the last stragglers of the night were disappearing into taxis or more likely, stumbling toward whatever passed for home these days. Meanwhile, the morning commuters, delivery trucks, and "respectable" bullshit citizens were still several hours away from bringing the streets back to life. Bringing them back to something that resembled "normal". It was that strange, forgotten stretch of time when the city seemed to belong to no one. Which naturally met no witnesses, no interruptions, no curious strangers asking questions they had no business asking. The perfect time for certain kinds of business, that was absolutely perfect. It would be as it should be. Just two men with a score to settle.
Neither had come here by accident.
There had been words over the years. So many words, so many arguments, threats to do this or that. Grudges that had been allowed to fester long past the point where reasonable men might have buried them. Reasonable, heh, what even was that no a days? Whatever had started their feud hardly mattered anymore. Time had twisted it into something uglier, something personal, something neither man was willing to walk away from.
Tonight, there would be no more talking.
No referees to stop them.
No audience, drunk or not, cheering them on.
No flashy entrances, no dramatic speeches, and certainly no concern for sportsmanship.
This wasn't a sporting event.
This was personal.
The time for words was over.
The time to settle things had finally come.
It was time to fuck shit up.
Kevin (or Celticfire since he did prefer his fight name) stood tall, his fists clenched tightly. His blood ran hot, burning with the kind of stubborn, defiant fire that any Irishman would recognize. That would respect. His jaw was set, his breathing heavy but controlled, and his eyes never once left the man standing opposite him. Across the cracked pavement, Coach (or Unbroken) slowly flexed his fingers, rolling his thick shoulders before cracking his neck with an audible pop. His breathing was measured, almost unnaturally calm, but the tension running through his body told a different story.
"Let's finish it," Celticfire growled.
Unbroken didn't answer. Why would he, they didn't need words anymore. Instead, Unbroken's expression hardened, his weight shifted forward, and he charged. The distance between them vanished in an instant. Unbroken's shoulder slammed into Celticfire's chest with the force of a runaway freight train, driving the Irishman backward across the unforgiving pavement. Boots scraped against concrete, and the first brutal grunts of exertion shattered the alley's silence. Celticfire barely had time to recover his footing before the first fist came swinging. He answered with one of his own. And just like that, years of hatred exploded into violence.
The fight was on... as it should be.
Unbroken had no interest in form, finesse, or anything remotely resembling sportsmanship. No, he wanted pain, he wanted to hurt someone, and more than anything, he wanted blood. His first punch came hard and fast, a vicious right hook that caught Celticfire square across the jaw. The Irishman's head snapped sideways, his feet stumbling beneath him as he struggled to absorb the impact. Before Celtic could recover, Unbroken followed with a sharp left jab to the nose, then another crushing right to the cheek. Celtic grunted, his head jerking backward. He threw up his arms to defend himself, but Unbroken was already pressing forward, determined to give him neither the time nor the space to recover. A short uppercut caught Celtic beneath the chin, snapping his head toward the night sky.
Fuck... that one hurt.
Celtic staggered backward, blinking hard as his vision blurred. The unmistakable metallic taste of blood spread across his tongue. He spat a mouthful onto the pavement, wiped his lips with the back of his hand, and raised his fists again.
Unbroken grinned.
"Fuck! That all you got?" he growled.
Celtic answered with his fist.
A heavy right cross connected with Unbroken's cheek, turning his head sharply to the side. Celtic followed with a left hook that caught him near the temple, forcing the larger man to take an involuntary step backward. He drove another punch toward Unbroken's face, but this one was caught on a raised forearm.
Unbroken retaliated immediately.
His fist crashed into Celtic's nose, followed by a brutal hook across the mouth. Celtic stumbled sideways, only to catch another punch against his cheekbone. His head whipped around, sweat flying from his hair as his shoulder struck the rough brick wall.
Unbroken wasn't letting him escape.
He stepped forward and drove a short, vicious punch into Celtic's already battered jaw. He stumbled back, his vision blurred again, he wanted to throw up. He caught himself against the wall with one hand, desperately trying to remain upright as another blow glanced off the side of his face. His lip was split, blood trickling down his chin. His nose throbbed, his jaw ached, and each breath came a little harder than the last. With an angry roar, Celtic pushed himself away from the bricks and swung a wild left hook. Somehow, it connected. Unbroken's head snapped sideways, and for the first time, blood appeared at the corner of his own mouth. Celtic smiled, he was most pleased. Unbroken slowly turned back toward Celtic, wiped the blood away with his thumb, and stared at it. Celtic raised his fists again, chest heaving, blood staining his teeth as he gave his opponent a defiant glare.
Unbroken had landed the overwhelming majority of the blows, and Celtic's battered face showed every single one of them.
But Celtic was still standing.
And that seemed to piss Unbroken off more than anything.
Unbroken came in hard and fast, his fists moving with relentless aggression. The kind that screamed abandon all hope. Every punch carried years of pent-up hatred, every blow delivered with the unmistakable intention of causing as much pain as possible. A vicious right hook caught Celticfire across the cheek. A sharp left jab struck his nose, followed by another punishing cross that snapped his head sideways. Celtic was taking them hard. He tried to raise his guard, but Unbroken was already inside it, driving another crushing uppercut beneath his chin. Celtic's head snapped backward, blood flew again. For one brief, terrible moment, the Irishman was completely exposed. His vision swam, his knees weakened, and his arms hung uselessly as he struggled to regain his senses. Unbroken saw his opportunity.
And he took it.
His eyes dropped from Celtic's battered face to his unprotected stomach. Very unprotected stomach. The first punch slammed directly into the center of Celtic's abdomen.
THUD!
Celtic grunted, his stomach muscles tightening instinctively around the impact. The second punch came almost immediately, striking the exact same spot. Then a third. A fourth. A fifth. Unbroken's fists became a relentless blur, each punch driving into Celtic's midsection with brutal desire to mash and bash what ever was there. The blows landed so quickly that Celtic barely had time to absorb one before the next arrived. His abdomen tightened desperately beneath the assault, but even his considerable strength couldn't withstand the punishment indefinitely.
"UUGH!"
A particularly savage straight right buried itself in the pit of his stomach, forcing a rush of air from his lungs. Celtic doubled forward, his arms finally dropping from his battered face to protect his aching abdomen. But it was already to late, Unbroken had already found his weakness. Unbroken would refuse to let this go, and why would he? A powerful left hook crashed into Celtic's right ribs, twisting his upper body sideways. Then slammed another punch into the opposite side, wrenching him back the other way.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Right.
The rhythm was merciless.
Each impact sent Celtic's body lurching in a different direction, his boots scraping helplessly against the pavement as he fought to remain upright. Unbroken wasn't simply throwing punches anymore. He was dismantling his opponent. Dismantling with extreme prejudices.
"Come on!" Unbroken snarled between blows. "You wanted this! Flex your abs pretty boy!"
Celtic tried to answer, but all that escaped his lips was a ragged gasp as another fist drove deep into his stomach. His knees buckled. Unbroken stepped closer. A short, compact uppercut exploded upward into Celtic's abdomen, folding the Irishman forward with a strangled groan. Sweat flew from his body as he staggered, desperately trying to draw enough air into his battered lungs. But Unbroken refused to give him even a second. He seized the opening and hammered another straight punch directly into Celtic's exposed stomach.
Then another.
And another.
Celtic's abdominal muscles trembled under the repeated impacts. His entire midsection burned, his ribs ached, and every attempt to breathe seemed to invite another fist into his gut. He tried to tighten his guard. Unbroken simply punched around it. He tried to retreat. Unbroken followed. He tried to straighten himself, to summon enough strength for a counterattack. A vicious right hook to the ribs put an end to that idea.
"HUURRGH!"
Celtic stumbled backward, nearly losing his footing altogether. His mouth hung open as he struggled for air, a thin trail of blood running from his split lip. His arms remained wrapped protectively around his stomach, leaving his face exposed once again. Unbroken could have gone for the head. Instead, he looked down at Celtic's midsection and smiled coldly.
He wasn't finished with it. No fuck that, not even close.
Stepping forward, Unbroken planted his feet and unleashed one final, devastating uppercut into the center of Celtic's stomach. The punch lifted Celtic onto his toes. His body folded around the blow, his eyes widening as what little breath remained in his lungs was violently expelled. For several agonizing seconds, he could do nothing but remain hunched forward, trembling, his mouth opening and closing in a desperate attempt to breathe.
Unbroken finally stepped back.
He flexed his aching fingers, rolled his shoulders, and watched Celtic struggle to remain standing. The Irishman's legs were shaking. His face was battered, his stomach was throbbing, and his once defiant, his once arrogant, his once bullshit I'm better than you, posture had collapsed into a desperate, hunched guard. Unbroken had fought Celticfire enough times to recognize the signs. The slowing movements. The failing defenses. The increasingly desperate attempts to stay upright. Celticfire was nearing defeat.
And Unbroken knew it.
The only question remaining was how much more punishment the stubborn Irishman could take before his body finally gave out. From the looks of it? Not much. Unbroken smiled; victory was his. But he forgot one fact: Celticfire was built from pain. He was born into it, forged by it, embraced it, and made one. He would face his pain and let it pass through him.
CRACK!
The impact was vicious. Surprising, but also vicious. Unbroken's cheek visibly compressed beneath Celtic's knuckles, his features twisting as his head snapped violently to the side. Sweat, spit and blood flew from his mouth, and Unbroken for the first time this fight, momentarily stunned by the sudden retaliation. A crushing right cross then smashed into Unbroken's jaw, whipping his head in the opposite direction. Before Unbroken could regain his balance, Celtic followed with a sharp left jab straight into his nose.
Then another.
And another.
Something had finally snapped in Celtic, and the fire was burning. Unbroken's head jerked backward with each successive impact, his attempts to raise his guard growing increasingly desperate... and worse inaccurate. Celtic knew exactly what he was doing. He wasn't simply trying to knock Unbroken down. He wanted to keep him dizzy, disoriented, and unable to mount another attack. A heavy right hook slammed across Unbroken's cheekbone, twisting his face sideways. Celtic immediately followed with a short uppercut beneath the chin, snapping his opponent's head upward. Unbroken staggered backward, blinking rapidly as the alley seemed to tilt beneath his feet. But Celtic wasn't finished.
Not by a long shot.
He stepped forward and drove another straight punch into Unbroken's mouth.
THWACK!
Unbroken's lips distorted around the impact, a spray of blood and saliva bursting into the night air. His head snapped backward. Celtic followed him. A left hook crashed into one cheek. A right cross punished the other. Then another left. Then another right. Then just chaos unleashed. Unbroken's face was becoming a battered mess of sweat, swelling, and blood, his cheeks rippling beneath the impacts like an overfilled water balloon being struck from every direction.
Celtic's fists seemed to be everywhere.
Every time Unbroken tried to focus his eyes, another punch knocked his head sideways. Every time he attempted to steady his feet, another blow sent him stumbling. He raised his fists to protect his face. Celtic punched through the gaps. He tried to retreat. Celtic pressed forward. He attempted a desperate counterattack, but his sluggish swing found nothing but empty air. Celtic ducked beneath it and answered with a savage uppercut that caught Unbroken squarely beneath the jaw.
CRACK!
Unbroken's head snapped back, his knees briefly threatening to give way. For a moment, he stood there swaying, his eyes struggling to focus on the green-haired Irishman in front of him. Celtic was breathing hard now. His stomach still burned from the earlier punishment, and every movement sent fresh pain through his ribs. But he could see the damage he was doing. And he wasn't about to waste the opportunity.
"Not so fucking fun, is it?" Celtic growled through bloodstained teeth.
He stepped forward once more. A final, thunderous right hook connected across Unbroken's jaw, turning his entire upper body with the force of the impact. Unbroken stumbled several steps sideways, nearly crashing into the brick wall. His hands hung momentarily at his sides, his mouth slightly open, his vision swimming as he struggled to understand which direction the next attack might come from.
Celtic stood before him, fists raised, chest heaving.
His body was battered. His stomach was in agony. But his eyes burned with renewed determination. Unbroken had spent the last several minutes trying to break Celticfire's body. Now Celticfire was determined to make sure Unbroken couldn't even see the next punch coming.
No mercy asked.
No mercy granted.
And certainly no mercy deserved.
Celticfire, drunk on adrenaline and fueled by years of resentment, had finally turned the tables. The smell of blood, the burning ache in his battered body, and the opportunity to deliver some long-overdue vengeance had driven the Irishman into something approaching a frenzy. Unbroken was against the wall.Literally. His broad back pressed against the filthy brickwork, his chest heaving as he struggled to regain his bearings. His face was swollen and bloodied from Celtic's earlier assault, and the world still refused to stay entirely still. Celtic saw it. He saw the unsteady legs, the lowered guard, the momentary confusion behind Unbroken's eyes. And then he looked down. Straight at Unbroken's exposed stomach.
"My turn," Celtic growled.
THUD!
Celtic's right fist buried itself in the center of Unbroken's abdomen, driving the man's back harder against the bricks.
"HUURGH!"
Unbroken's mouth fell open as the air rushed from his lungs. Celtic immediately followed with a left. Then another right. And another left. The blows came in rapid succession, each one finding the same unprotected territory. Celtic's fists hammered into Unbroken's stomach with a relentless rhythm, leaving the battered man scarcely enough time to react between impacts. There was nothing elegant about it, nothing remotely sporting. Celtic drove a particularly heavy right straight into Unbroken's gut. The impact folded him forward, but the brick wall prevented any meaningful retreat. Unbroken didn't just stand there and take it, no tried to bring his elbows down. But each time, Celtic shifted his attack. A powerful left hook crashed into the ribs, twisting Unbroken sideways. A right hook immediately punished the opposite side, forcing him back against the wall.
Left.
Right.
Left.
Right.
Unbroken's torso rocked beneath the assault, his abdominal muscles contracting desperately as he attempted to brace for the next impact. But Celtic refused to establish a predictable rhythm. A quick jab to the stomach. A heavy cross beneath the ribs. Two short punches directly above the waistband.Then a crushing uppercut driven upward into the center of his abdomen.
"UUUURRRGH!"
Unbroken doubled over, his forehead nearly brushing Celtic's shoulder. His knees threatened to give way. Celtic seized him by the shoulder, shoved him upright against the bricks, and continued.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
Three more punches hammered into his stomach. Each impact drew another involuntary grunt from Unbroken, his breathing reduced to desperate, uneven gasps. The number of stomach punches should have been criminal. In fact, under practically any circumstances other than two grown men voluntarily attempting to beat the living hell out of each other in a deserted alley, they undoubtedly would have been.
And Celtic wasn't particularly interested in keeping count.
"How's that feel Bitch Boy?" Celtic snarled, driving another heavy punch into Unbroken's stomach.
Unbroken grunted, his hands instinctively reaching downward to protect himself. Celtic knocked one arm aside and buried another fist into his midsection. Then another.Unbroken tried to push away from the wall, but a sharp hook to the ribs sent him stumbling back against it. His breathing was ragged now. His stomach tightened painfully beneath every new impact, and his legs trembled under the accumulating punishment. Celtic stepped in close, and unleashed a series of savage uppercuts directly into Unbroken's stomach. Each blow lifted Unbroken onto his toes. His eyes widened, his mouth opening in a soundless gasp as his entire body folded around Celtic's fist. For a moment, he remained suspended there, bent forward, his trembling arms hanging uselessly at his sides.
Unbroken sagged against the brickwork, one arm wrapped protectively around his aching stomach while the other struggled to find purchase against the wall. Celtic took half a step backward, rolling his aching shoulders. His own midsection still screamed from the punishment he had endured earlier, but the sight of Unbroken struggling for breath brought a grim satisfaction.
He had wanted vengeance.
He had wanted to make Unbroken feel every ounce of pain he had inflicted.
And he had succeeded.
Yet Unbroken remained standing.
Barely.
Celtic stared at him, his bloodied fists tightening once more.
No mercy asked.
No mercy granted.
And as far as Celticfire was concerned, the debt still wasn't paid.
So this was it...
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