My death was brutal.
And my life being ended shortly wasn't even what brought me anger. It was the way I died that boiled my blood.
Death by a knife to the heart. All because I wanted to be the hero of a store robbery.
As I lay on the cold concrete with the knife still punctured into my life source, I swiftly came to the realisation that not all heroes have a happy ending.
But as I said, losing my life didn't bother me. After all, it was filled with mundane monotony.
No family or friends meant that my life consisted solely of working my job. Staring at a computer screen until my eyes became sore.
It was the worst occupation for me, considering my childhood was filled with sports and activities. Unfortunately, when you get to a certain age, paying the bills and providing for yourself becomes a priority.
So when I died, I knew that I would be leaving behind all of that.
The stresses of everyday life.
It brought me a strange, bitter sense of tranquillity.
But what I did not know was that my problems on Earth would only be replaced by others in the afterlife.
For the afterlife was not as I expected.
As I drifted through the realm of unconsciousness for who knows how long, I suddenly felt a sensation urging me to open my eyes.
I struggled at first. It was as though my eyelids were being held down by weights, refusing to budge.
But once they did...
I felt life flow through me once again.
...
...
"Are you ready, initiate? You remember the rules, right?"
Huh?
After opening my eyes, I found myself in a dark location—one my mind had no recognition of.
A thick, musty air clung to the back of my throat, filled with the stench of sweat, grime, and faint hints of rusted metal. A low hum of murmured voices echoed off the damp walls.
It wasn't just the location that I didn't recognise, but also the tens of people around me.
The man who had spoken stood directly in front of me, his hands resting on my shoulders whilst his black eyes pierced deeply into my soul.
I couldn't see the rest of his face, as it was covered by a red bandana.
In fact, it wasn't only the bandana that was red but the baggy hoodie he wore as well—frayed at the sleeves, darkened at the cuffs.
No... everybody in the space wore red clothes, and I couldn't help but notice they carried a gritty air to them.
The kind of people you instinctively avoided. The kind you'd cross the road to escape if you saw them walking toward you in the night.
"Are you deaf, kid? I asked if you're ready?"
As he shook my shoulders and repeated the question, I was only filled with further confusion.
"Ready for what?" I replied, swivelling my head around to get a better look at my surroundings.
The area looked like some sort of underground, train station. Shattered tiles. Flickering lights. Mold-ridden walls.
Tens of men and women in red stood circled around a pit carved into the floor—concrete chipped and cracked around the edges.
It looked like some sort of arena. A makeshift coliseum where gladiators would brawl, blood would be spilt, and the crowd would cheer from the shadows.
On the opposite side of the pit, I noticed another man receiving the same talk that I was.
He was ginormous, easily over six feet tall. His white vest clung to the hulking muscles of his shoulders, tattooed biceps twitching with anticipation.
Whilst I was on the leaner side, not standing very tall, and with bright red hair that had always made me stand out in a strange way.
The man talking to me let go of my shoulders and facepalmed himself.
"Boy, you're selling. You can't let the nerves get to you. If you lose this fight, then you're dead, or an inch away from it. Forget ever joining the gang."
---
The words smashed into me like a truck, as the shady environment suddenly began to make sense.
A gang... That's what they are. Gang members.
But what did the gang have to do with me?
"Listen. I know he's double your size, but that doesn't matter in StoneCity. Find a rock and crush it through his skull. Find a shard of glass and pierce it through his heart. If you're lucky, you'll even tap into your Fury. Then he'll stand no chance."
A slow, cold fear settled over me like a fog. My mouth went dry, my heartbeat becoming a steady, muffled drum in my ears.
I had been reborn. Not on Earth, but in a foreign land where violence reigned and blood marked status.
It seemed that the 'me' of this world had dreams of becoming a gang member.
And my initiation...
I glanced back over to the large, muscular man on the other side of the pit. After receiving his final words of preparation, he began to climb his way down into the pit.
Muffled cheers rumbled from the crowd at the sight of him, boots stomping, fists raised.
"Well, looks like you're up." The man said, slapping me hard on the back toward the pit. "Get in there and show them that size isn't all that matters."
I looked down into the pit. It was filthy—littered with rusted metal scraps, broken glass, cigarette butts, and dried bloodstains smeared like old warnings.
My 'opponent' stood there menacingly, cracking his knuckles as he glared up at me with a wolfish grin.
Not a single bone in my body wanted to jump down and fight him.
In fact... I didn't even want to join the gang in the first place.
Did I?
"Are you an idiot?" a hoarse voice suddenly came from the man below. "If I don't kill you, then they will. Either way, you will die today."
As he spoke, he pointed up at a raised wooden platform in the distance—roughly built, patched together with boards and nails.
I looked over, and found two more gang members stood on either side of a large chair.
The man on the chair was...
---
I focused my eyes on him. Or at least, I tried to.
The man was a black blur. I could see his form and shape, but every detail was shrouded by some kind of shadowy essence—coiling around him like smoke from an invisible fire.
It made no sense. Such a thing shouldn't exist.
But as my eyes lingered for too long, I noticed the dark figure's head turn toward me.
I couldn't see his eyes, but somehow I knew they were piercing into me. I felt a presence press down on my soul, a chill worm its way into my chest like ice in my lungs.
My breath hitched. My chest tightened.
Whoever that was—he was powerful. And from the way he sat, unmoving, watching...
He was waiting.
Waiting for me to climb down.
Waiting for the fight to begin.
If my opponent didn't kill me... then the shrouded man would.
Somehow, the next decision came to me easily.
I stepped forward toward the pit, and leapt in—feet hitting the concrete with a thud that echoed through the space like a gunshot.
The crowd of gang members roared.
The fight was about to begin.