This chapter was difficult to write. It started out simple but evolved with edits. It explores the darker side of Julius's erging personality.
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Julius's POV
My third underground fight was my hardest so far.
My opponent was a burly South Arican guy covered in tattoos, wielding a maul half my height. There was a hunger in his eyes I recognized. I saw it every ti I looked in the mirror.
His na was Ghost, and he charged when Harley rang the bell.
No posturing. No threats.
I spread my stance, tugging lightly at my black pants, which contrasted with my white mask. My compression shirts were black too. In another life, I would've liked to lean into the Mr. Negative bit and made my pants white for a better color profile, but my future work demanded sothing utilitarian.
The maul ca down fast. I raised my forearm, stealing its montum with a flash of Inverse, and twisted, yanking hard. Flashing Reinforcent at maximum burn, I drove my fist into his striking hand, ripping the weapon from him.
He retaliated instantly, his knee slamming into my raised one. I swung his maul at half-speed, letting him dodge and create space--space that rapidly closed when he attacked again.
The maul whipped out, my Reinforcent flaring as I countered his hook. With a grunt and flex, I reversed the swing, smashing Ghost in the face and sending him stumbling.
I tossed the oversized weapon aside.
"This is the part where I warn you," I said. "You've got no shot—not that I won't enjoy kicking your ass."
"You talk too much," he said, exploding forward with a shoulder charge.
I sidestepped and leaned back as his follow-up strike skimd past . My leg snapped out, Cursed Energy crackling through my foot as I struck the outside of his thigh. He tipped to the side and ate sand.
I followed through, Cursed Energy surging my leg to my hand, and I pald him hard in the chest, burying him deeper in the sand.
I pulled back, expecting the fight to be over.
Ghost snatched my wrist.
Hell no.
I'd been down this road before with old man Han, and I wasn't about to let it happen again. I cracked him in the jaw—once, twice, thrice—but he held on, catching my free hand on the third hit.
I reared my head back, flooding my mask and skull with Cursed Energy, then drove my forehead into his nose.
Crunch.
Amazingly, he still didn't let go, his grip vice-like.
A second headbutt finally broke his hold. I stumbled back, vision doubling, legs shaky.
I barely registered Ghost clawing for . I ducked, my vision already clearing, though my head still throbbed like hell.
My ta-ability was doing its job.
He took two more desperate swipes before I drilled a push kick into his right knee—the sa one I'd attacked earlier—and finished him with a roundhouse to the neck.
He dropped like a sack of flour and sprung back up in two seconds flat.
The roar from the crowd was deafening. Harley lost her shit.
"Holy crap! Looks like Mistah Negative has t his match! Can Ghost turn this around? Or is he just punishing himself?"
Ghost's expression didn't change. The blood leaking from his nose had drenched his tank top, but he staggered forward with the sa undaunted look.
"You need to stop," I warned. "Before you do real damage to your body."
"You think I'm afraid of pain?" he seethed. "I've lived with it all my life."
So have I, but I wasn't fucking suicidal...Okay, maybe I was.
He reached into his boot and pulled a knife I hadn't noticed.
Shit.
He lunged forward with near-perfect posture, muscling through what must've been imnse pain—only to stop short and fling the dagger at .
I rolled to the side, dodging easily. By the ti I ca up, Ghost had already grabbed his maul. He swung hard at the sand, sending a wave of it at .
I moved, recognizing the feint for what it was, and barely caught the descending maul in ti.
My hearing saved .
I danced around the hit and whipped out a kick, brutalizing his wounded leg before switching legs mid-air for a second strike.
There was a sickening crunch.
He was mid-swing when his leg gave out, and he collapsed.
"Now you're limping the rest of your life," I seethed. "It's just five fucking grand. Let it go!"
He looked up at with glassy eyes and the sa granite expression.
"Not with the money I have riding on this."
My jaw flexed. "How much did you bet?"
"Everything."
I clenched my fists.
"I will not fail my children."
The maul ca slower this ti—but sohow, I didn't see it coming.
It drove the air from my lungs, and my ribs creaked under the impact. Stumbling back, I flared Reinforcent just before the second hit connected, launching off my feet.
The crowd cheered.
My vision swam.
What the fuck was I doing? Was that all it took to make hesitate—a sob story? I had my own people to worry about.
I spun, barely dodging the third strike. My fist rocketed forward, connecting with his jaw. He dropped to one knee.
Eddie. Candice. Sasha. Artemis.
Every fucking dollar counted.
I was being hunted, for god's sake.
A second punch. Then, a knee lifted him off the ground. A final strike put him back there.
I breathed.
For all I knew, the fucker could be lying. Tell the teenager that kids were on the line to shake his ga.
He tried to get back up.
I kicked him in the stomach, putting him on his chest. His fingers still clutched the maul. I stomped on his hand, grinding down until he let go of the weapon and kicked it to the side.
Even if he was telling the truth, why should it change anything?
I wasn't a good guy.
I'd stolen. I'd killed.
And he knew the rules of the Narrows—of Gotham.
Always watch out for number one.
The bastard had cracked my rib.
I stomped down on his chest as he struggled to rise, then delivered another kick to his side. He curled up.
"Surrender! you fucking idiot." I roared.
"No!
The beating continued.
Each strike hurt more than the last.
The justifications, the high stakes, the danger… none of it filled the growing pit in my stomach.
Ghost didn't stop until he lost consciousness.
They carried him out of the arena.
By the end, I was drenched in blood—none of it mine. The cheers of the crowd were distant, and Harley's clever outro entered one ear and went out the other.
The fight reminded of all the worst parts of that night by the river.
And I didn't shake the feeling until long after I collected my winnings.
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