The Last Fight
by
HuntMDL


Wolverine threw the kid headfirst into the opposite wall of the steel mesh cage. So what if the kid was late-twenties? He'd fought him three times before and anyone who itched to climb back into the ring after the beating he gave was a kid in his book. It wasn't just that though. The upstart had the kind of glittery look in his eyes, like he had even now as he was peeling himself off the mat, that bespoke of a naive invincibility. Wolverine half expected for him to shout out at any moment, 'The key to success is to never stop trying!' or some cliche like that. Taking "the Wolverine" down to prove a damned idealistic point was as stupid as it came, and that's why he took his time in letting the kid feel the blows instead of knocking him out cold.

"Learned your lesson yet?" came the low growl.

The kid wobbled over on shaky legs and swung a blind arm at him, then the other. He missed so badly that Wolverine didn't even have to put down his drink.

"Guess not."

With the back of his free hand he hit the kid across the face, hard this time, sending him down on all fours.

The kid coughed up blood. There was so much of it seemingly coming out of cuts over his swollen-shut eyes, from his broken nose, from his split lips and ears soaking down the front of his white undershirt. His whole body shook, wrenching out hack after blood-curdling hack and Wolverine was sure he was down.

The crowd roared in appreciation, already starting to place bets on Wolverine's next challenger. Some were calling for the head of "the little shit" on the floor for losing them money. Some cheered Wolverine for making them money. And some just wanted one or both of them to die.

"Stay down," Wolverine found himself muttering. The little shit was trying to stand up.

It was an impossible sight. The kid had no legs to stand on but there they somehow were, underneath him, pulling him up until he lurched there in the middle of the ring, facing God knows what but certainly not Wolverine.

Wolverine felt the metal claws beneath his knuckles threaten to come out. The smell of the blood and the sight of the wounded intoxicated him as it always did, and the animal in him screamed to finish and make the kill. The roar of the crowd was deafening, as if they too felt the very bloodlust burning behind his eyes and in his ears. But he knew that wasn't true. They couldn't know what he was and now he found himself hearing a lone voice beneath all the noise and he turned his head to see a woman crying in the back row, her hands clasped together for the kid.

And he found himself hitting the kid again, but nowhere near hard this time, and it knocked him out.

Wolverine left him lying there in the spotlight of the ring, turned and walked out of the cage.



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