An ever-present grin beneath the darkness of a hoodie struck the troll bobbing and weaving from one side to the other, his fists moving through the air in an intimidating manner with droplets of sweat flinging from his frame and unto the ground beneath their feet. Large and imposing, most would possess enough sense to find themselves on the running end of a troll but the fanged grin almost playful in its approach did not waver as the slight vampire moved back to his feet. Having met the ground head on was anything but a comfortable outcome, though Raven wasn’t known for succumbing to pain. A glutton for punishment, the Lamia soon found himself back on his converse clad feet before slipping that hood off to reveal a set of thick, messy hair belonging to a young and brightly smirking face. “That it?”
He spoke, his voice light and to the point.
“Y’ain’t down fer’ th’count yet, kid?” The troll returned, slamming his fists together, earning a delighted chuckle from his vampiric opponent. “I was just measurin’ ya’!”
Raven shot back, tightening his fingerless gloves before charging forth. Invoking the undead prowess flowing through his veins, the vampire relished. His fist connected with the troll, the sound of shattering bone causing the audience to cheer in delight, followed by another, and a third. A troll possessed remarkable regeneration, and so did a vampire. This battle, it was one of brutal nature, one people would pay to see. No holding back, no restrictions. Just try not to kill each other, but other than that, go all out.
Retaliating, the troll threw his fist forth and managed to connect another strike. The impact was enough to launch Raven’s light weight to the ground, but he rolled back to his feet in a fluid motion. Not allowing the troll a second to collect himself, Raven evened the distance between them. The vampire awaited another strike, patience working in his advantage as he sidestepped the incoming punch and expertly parried the attack. Catching the strike, Raven placed one hand along the troll’s forearm and the other along his biceps before delivering a powerful kick to his opponent’s leg. Using the leverage, Raven broke the troll’s arm and forced him to a knee before ending the fight with a fist to the troll’s forehead.
A loud thud sealed their fight, sending a moaning troll to the ground regenerating from his wounds. As the rules dictated, spending enough time on the ground warranted your loss. Throwing his fist up in the air, Raven looked over the roaring crowed with the ever present, bright smile stretching across his lips. “Looks like we have a winner!” Breaking through the crowd’s roaring cheers was an ever familiar voice within the fighting pit. The referee made her way into ring, placing a hand on Raven’s shoulder to officially announce the victory. “You might be a new fan favorite kid! Just arrived here, huh?” “Yup!”
Raven returned, showing off that toothy grin.
“Hope we’ll be seeing more of you, yeah?” The referee returned. “Those are all the fights for today, folks!” She continued, turning her attention to the audience before dotting the end of this day’s fighting. Of course, the amount of fights in a day all boils down to how many combatants decide to sign up. During daytime, not many found the time, so to speak. This wasn’t exactly a civil activity.
Upon leaving the arena, Raven counted his daily ‘salary’ which came closely knitted to the fight club. You fight, you win, you earn money. Signing up itself offered some payment, and overall the activity was fruitful. Ever since Raven came to live with his friend Calib, it had taken him a while to find a den of scum and villainy, so to speak. No one down there in the fight club was out to kill, and no one was eager to put that amount of guilt on their conscience. It was a source of entertainment, without as many rules and restrictions as more civilly sanctioned fights. Well, there was that, and there was the supernatural aspect of it.
Treading across the path back home to Calib, Raven had told the demon about the fighting a long time ago. It wasn’t news, though Raven understood if Calib had better things to do than to hang around the vampire all the time. Especially when Raven was at ‘work’. Placing his hand on the doorknob, the vampire had arrived home, and proceeded to open the door. Even though he was essentially forty-six years of age, the Lamia all possessed a mental configuration which forced them to retain the maturity of the day they were turned. Due to this, Raven acted like his appearance would dictate, like a sixteen-year-old, and he was treated like one in turn. Calib’s mother was a sweet person, God bless her. Though, Raven was quite certain that between Calib and himself, she had her hands full with two troublemakers.