King of Nothing Part 4

Eternus POV

I'm used to usually going into any situation half-cocked and expecting the worst. So I guess you could say that I was right at home as I walked out of the locker room into the ring in front. A crowd of Damage's cronies laid as quiet as still air, their mostly bronze badges twinkling as if begging me to come at them so that they could all tear me apart for their precious king. Each of their feet rested upon a chipped sea of rotted maple wood.

Out of the corner of my eye, I also saw rays of white light shine on the boxing ring from rusted over headlights. Finally, to tie it all together, I saw the pushed-over weights and barely put together sandbags, implying pretty clearly that this place had now gotten adopted as Damage's demented training facility. My new jacket cape kept my wily nerves together as I entered the middle of the ring.

After that, the crowd, like some kind of earthquake, erupted into the second largest "boooooo" I've ever heard. However, that quickly got settled when Damage, on a torn-up armchair, made a quieting motion with his hands. When the booing finally stopped, Damage, in an extravagant fashion, began to speak the rules of this demented game.

"Now, Eternus, I'm sure you've noticed that each of my servants carry a badge to symbolize their rank. Gold, silver, and bronze are top to bottom, respectively. Normally when it comes to past ruffians like yourself, I try to promote my men into these little contests and have them work their way up. But given your current showing of skill, I wouldn't mind if you tried for the gold rank right off the bat. Unfortunately, I only reserve the rank of gold to my most trusted and valuable ally. This means there can only be one, and so far, Taurus hasn't failed me yet, no matter how many I've sent after her. Win here, and The Cons will officially become sliver ranked members with you, my golden right-hand man. Lose, and I might just have to come up with a new status for how low you're going to be," he said while chuckling to himself.

At that point, I had gotten used to the midget's speech pattern. So cut out all the fluff, and he was saying this.

"Win this, and you won't be able to so much as whisper without me noticing underneath my thumb. Lose here, and you're nothing but a fluke and deserve to earn scraps amongst the scraps."

Either way, I was effectively fucked. But I couldn't think of all of that right now. Because right now, I had to shed it all, my anger, worries, and ego, if I was going to live to see another day. In my intensive focus, Damage faded away, along with his captive audience and The Cons. All there was left was this small boxing ring. A boxing ring that soon grew many times heavier as I noticed the footsteps of the infamous Taurus approach me.

Gum's description was dead on, girthy muscles that made me feel inadequate, horns that I couldn't let get anywhere near my heart, or brainless I did want to die and a visage that is as primal as her namesake. But, from an outsider's perspective, this fight is a one-sided slaughter, and that is without the mental check-up I've already done.

All my injuries from before persisted with a couple of bruises and cuts added in, but now I had to worry about my Frankenstein-like legs that could barely stand especially. Combine that with the fasting, and my body is effectively running on fumes, pushing itself harder than before to keep up and compensate.

This means even I had any hope at not leaving here in a body bag, I had to be smart, take what I knew, and use that "trump card." If Gum was that accurate, then that means that this girl is strong but clumsy, fast but not dynamic, and most of all angry but also sloppy. And "lucky" for me, I had an entire lifetime of dealing with angry and sloppy. So when Taurus entered the ring, I started the first step of my grand plan: provocation.

"Little word of advice, I suggest you try to hit me as hard as you can, you bonafide bow-legged, bovine bitch, maybe then you can have a 1% chance of leaving here with your teeth a little less crooked."

Before I even knew what was going on, Taurus flung herself to me as if she got slingshotted, making it over to me in record time. I barely had enough time to form a block before I got barreled through with a left hook that sent me skidding to the ropes crouching on one knee.

A large dark welt started to form on my already messed up right forearm, making it burn worse than kerosene. A piercing hiss nearly escaped my throat, but my clenched teeth trapped the sound just long enough for me to regain my composure at Taurus' "witty" comeback.

"Hard enough for you?"

At that moment, I played up my act even more, delivering an evident smirk and small chuckle through the pain to get her attention.

"What's so funny?"

"Oh nothing, just wondering if it's those fat udders or the ugly ass horns that are making you retarded enough ever to think that a 4/10 at best would be enough to knock me out. Cause news flash "babe" it's going to take a lot more than that if you even want to hope at taking me down."

With the first-hand calculations now made, I readied myself into a fighting stance, holding my ground against the berserk beast gunning for my life. All while my trump card laid ready to activate.