Tainted novel Chapter 5

Alistair:

Etymology -the commander of arch-demons from the pits of hell

OR

The Defendor

"He has a heart like cold, frost ice...but a single touch from the warmth of your soul can melt it"

September 2012

A orphan was standing admist of one of the most rugged areas of town. His father died due to an accident last month, mother followed closely behind due to her serious injuries of brain.

He had mourned till his throat was dry, heart prickling with the whirlpool of agony as he sat numb for days....but for how long.

He had a younger brother to feed. A house to run, a world to build. Earlier he had never taken a look, all smiles and passion to follow for boxing...it was a drug for him.

Thirty seven championships were at his name making him confident and giving him money, more than enough to keep it all together, all from fighting but today was the day he realized he had nothing and it was a childplay that he did in the name of fist fight.

The stadium was empty, not a single soul present in the arena. Artificial lights shone like diamond crystals in the air as the steel podium stood in calm silence.

Caramel irises like two precious zircon gems encrusted on a poison dipped arrow were closed in heavy concentration, his brows drawn in determination.

Iron fists shaking from a fight he just fought stopping their tremors but the blood dripping from knuckles continued to flow freely, dribbling like drops of red pearls ready to burn the velvety ground with his temper.

He lost.

Not by a punch neither by a kick...he lost because he wasn't given a single opportunity to attack by his opponent..he lost because he thought his love for boxing would miraculously make him win.

He had fought with boys....today, only today he had fought with a fighter, a real fighter.

Mother, father, passion, identity.....

He had lost his everything.

Because he took it for granted.

Because he took his love for granted.

Eight new fighters have been arranged, fighting as doubles in his place to keep the crowd entertained and sane for a while being.

"Here he comes!" Several women stopped breathing as the coaches of both teams arrived with the opponents on the contrary side of the ring.

It was Alistair vs Draven, the man he had lost at the first time fight in the same place, Draven was his inspiration and he respected him deeply.

Too bad there could be only one king in the empire.

Nothing came easy.... sweat, blood, peace... It was a sacrifical fire and he had surrendered his soul to it completely.

When everyone was sleeping, dreaming and worrying Alistair was sweating and practicing. He had climbed up the ranks of boxers, the levels as they called it.

And yet they said he was made a billionaire over night with luck striking him at the right time, he wanted to laugh at that.....nine excruciating, brutal years of depraved sleep and hardwork were overnight for them.

He took off his robe, keeping his fists locked in the place, veins forming a maze on forearms. The golden elixar skin glistening in bright lights was ripped with sheer force and labour.

Several women had to clench their thighs, he was absolutely addictive and by God's grace so unaware of his effects on the opposite sex... sometimes on men too.