Fucking damn it.
That was probably the best way to describe how the young man felt in that moment as he was dragged out of the makeshift arena after his tenth win - one that was barely won and he had only just managed to remain on his feet long enough for the boys to make it to him. His arms were around their shoulders, blood smearing against their clothes as they tossed his heavy body into one of the chairs to be fixed up by whatever medic they had on duty that night.
He knew from the moment he stepped in the ring that it was rigged, the other fighter’s fists wrapped with nuts and screws to cause more damage but he couldn’t prove it till he nearly lost in one hit. Grumbling he spit out the blood in his mouth onto the grime covered floor, his right eye swollen shut from that first hit.
Shaking off the feeling of neasea, the young fighter waited for whomever would be coming to work their magic on him tonight - he needed to hurry up and claim his prize money.
“Make it quick...” He muttered coldly, not even bothering to look up. Whomever it was probably didn’t have the best bedside manners anyway so why should he?
