Ryder Vs Brickz

"This hand was not created to write poetry, but to fight so that her mother could still breathe."

The bass sound from the Club Harlem speakers vibrates to the ribs. The cheers of the crowd filled the dark room, carrying the smell of sweat, blood, and cheap cigarette smoke hanging in the air.

That night, everyone enjoyed the fight with their eyes twinkling. Their voices echoed, piercing through the hum of fluorescent lights flickering among cigarette smoke and the smell of stale alcohol.

In the middle of the crowd stood a young man named Ryder Cruz, a twenty-two-year-old brown Dominican immigrant fighter. His hair was bald on the right side with a lightning line engraved on the rest of his hair. Not to become a legend he was there that night, but for one thing: to pay for the surgery of his mother who was lying sick.

"Alright everyone, we're going to witness an incredible fight! Ryder Cruz vs. Brickz!"

The voice of commentators echoed from the stage of the Harlem Club, a notorious street fighting club in Iron Street Vale, a harsh area far from the center of the capital Blaze City.

"Ryder!"

"Ryder!"

"Ryder!"

Ryder's name was shouted by the audience from the right side, their voices blending with the clinking of bottles and the screams of the bets that got louder.

"Brickz!"

"Brickz!"

"Brickz!"

On the other hand, the opponent's supporters were no less violent, shouting the name of their favorite fighter excitedly.

Ryder took a deep breath, his eyes staring at his opponent that night. Brickz, a large man with a height of about 180 cm, wears a sweat-stained white singlet and shabby jeans. The man smiled at him sarcastically, as if he was underestimating the young man in front of him.

Ryder only returned that gaze coldly, the flame of his ambition burning. If he loses tonight, there will be no money he can take home to pay for his mother's hospital. There would be no future for him, and there would be no long breath for his mother tomorrow.

"I dare to bet ten silver Crowns tonight!" shouted a bespectacled man from the crowd.

"Hahaha! I put twenty silver Crowns for Ryder! Beat him!" shouted another man with an upside-down black hat.

In Blaze City, the Crowns currency is in the form of coins with crown engravings into blood flowing down the streets. There are three types: gold, silver, and bronze. One hundred bronze will become one silver, and one hundred silver will turn into one gold.

Gold coins are used to buy vehicles, pay for medical expenses, or illegal weapons transactions on the black market. Silver coins are usually used to buy food, drinks, and daily necessities. Meanwhile, bronze coins are only enough to buy cheap cigarettes that the audience often lights when watching a fight like this.

And that night, under the flickering neon lights that reflected light on the puddle of beer on the floor, his mother's future was determined by a bloody fight that was about to begin.

Everyone, we'll start this game soon." The voice of the commentator echoed from the old speakers hanging in the corner of the Harlem Club.

As soon as the announcement was over, Ryder and Brickz walked together towards the center of the arena. Their eyes met each other, Brickz's red eyes staring sharply, while Ryder's brown eyes returned the look coldly.

Among them stood a referee, wearing a black jacket with the logo of a man blowing a whistle on his back, the official logo that street fighters recognized as the official referee's sign.

Tonight's fight is a one-on-one fight, with a simple rule: lose if you give up or lose consciousness.

Spectators began to form a circle around the ring to keep their distance. The neon spotlight highlighted Ryder and Brickz's faces, making all eyes able to clearly see the two fighters who would be fighting for pride and money that night.

"You can too, boy," Brickz said with a sarcastic smile, trying to provoke.

Ryder remained silent, his eyes focused, his mind only on one thing: winning, so that he could take home the money tonight.

The referee approached, his eyes staring seriously at the two of them before finally saying in a firm voice:

"Ready, Fight!"

The sound of rust bells from the corner of the ring rang, echoing among the cheers and the neon lights dancing above their heads.

Brickz stepped forward, his steps heavy, every slash of his shoe sounded like a hammer on the rickety wooden floor. His stocky body looked like a moving wall, his right hand raised, ready to grab Ryder's neck.

Ryder twisted his neck slowly, his eyes not flickering as he stared at his opponent. He moved to the side, keeping his distance, his breathing in order even though his heart beat harder than the bass from the speakers in the corner of the club.

Brickz landed a big right punch. The wind of the blow was felt as Ryder ducked to the left, dodging the blow by just a few inches away. Brickz tried to pull his hand, but Ryder was faster, slipping a single punch towards Brickz's left rib.

Bugh!

The sound of bones meeting bones echoed briefly, greeted by soaring cheers from the audience. Brickz took a step back, his face grinning, but the look in his eyes implied pain.

"Hit him, Ryder!!" shouted a spectator in a black hat.

"Brickz! Tear the child apart!" replied a woman with a cigarette hanging from her lips.

Brickz advanced again angrily, trying to hit Ryder with a right hook. Ryder retreated, dodged slightly, then countered with a quick punch to Brickz's stomach, twice in a row.

Pak! Pak!

Brickz hunched over slightly, but then his arm floated wildly towards Ryder's head. Ryder was startled, and a hard punch landed on his jaw.

Dug!

Ryder's head was thrown to the side, a metallic taste filling his mouth, his vision shaking for a moment. Cheers erupted, some spectators hit their betting tables, spilling beer on the floor.

Brickz laughed softly, his breathing heavy, and tried to grab Ryder's shoulder to throw him to the floor. Ryder brushed off his hand hard, pulled his legs back, and then jumped forward with an uppercut that hit Brickz's chin.

CRAK!

Brickz's head was lifted back, saliva mixed with blood coming out of his mouth. The arena rumbled, the people applauded, some screamed wildly, the stakes were getting bigger.

"Come on, Ryder! Come on!"

"Brickz, wake up!"

Brickz staggered backwards, but in anger, he stepped forward again, trying to knock Ryder down with a haymaker's punch. Ryder lowered his head, grabbed Brickz's waist, and pushed him towards the ring guardrail that creaked loudly.

Dum!

Brickz screamed in annoyance, trying to hold his body, but Ryder took advantage of that position to slam his elbow into Brickz's ribs repeatedly.

Pak! Pak! Pak!

Brickz screamed, his arms raised, and that's when Ryder twisted his body, slamming his knee into Brickz's stomach hard.

Bugh!

Brickz fell to his knees, his hands holding his stomach, his face pale, his breath short. Ryder took a step back, looking at him with a cold look.

In his eyes, Ryder caught a glimpse of his mother's face, lying weak in the hospital bed with the sound of heavy breathing.

"Sorry, Mom... But I have to survive."

Ryder raised his hand, clenched it tightly, then unleashed one last punch into Brickz's face.

CRAK!

Brickz was slammed to the ring floor, his body drooping, his breath panting with blood dripping from his nose. A momentary silence filled Club Harlem before an explosion of cheers filled the room, the thumps of the spectators' feet stomped on the floor, making beer bottles vibrate on the tables.

"Winner! Ryder Cruz!"

The voice of the commentator filled the space, thundering between cheers and clapping of hands. The gamblers immediately counted their Crowns coins, piles of silver changed hands, the sound of coins falling was heard everywhere.

Ryder stood up, his breath still hunting, blood dripping from the corners of his lips, but his eyes remained sharp. He raised his hands in the air, not to celebrate the victory, but to announce to the world that he would fight again, and again, for one thing:

So that his mother could continue to breathe.