The moon had disappeared behind a cloud as it began its slow descent into the horizon, signalling a new dawn breaking and a new day beginning. The fresh wave of darkness caused by the moons receding light breathed new energy into Callisto as the two fighters were enveloped in a temporary black shroud before the sun made itâs appearance. Time had no meaning here. Days could pass in seconds, wounds could be tended for hours and not heal, a fact that Matt was experiencing first-hand.
The rugged street fighter wiped blood from his lips that were twisted into an insane, leering smile. A droplet of blood ran down the lower part of his mouth towards his chin, but was caught by Mattâs tongue and Callisto watched in disgust as it was promptly swallowed, the bloodlust returning to his eyes once again.
âFoul scum, youâre actually enjoying this?â Callisto said bitterly, as he watched the tortured soul before him pant excitedly, revelling in his own pain.
âBelieve me, with my bleak lifestyle, the prospect of death is a welcome relief. To cause pain and to receive it, that is what I live for now.â Replied the fighter with an unusually sophisticated eloquence in his words that set Callisto ill at ease. Matt eyeballed him with a haunting look.
âThen allow me to end your suffering, should we meet again, youâll thank me.â Said Callisto and he leapt at Matt, who instinctively swung his fist in abstract fury. Callisto, however, had no intention of attacking, and was crouched, ready and breathing hard. He scraped his hand along the roads surface, scoping up a loose handful of gravel, dust and debris, and brought it upwards, hurling the makeshift missile into Mattâs eyes.
The urban warrior staggered back, coughing and spluttering like a faulty engine as he fell back on one knee, struggling to maintain balance. Meanwhile Callisto had sprung back and leapt up and flipped in midair, landing with his back parallel to Mattâs before hitting him with a vicious back-kick to the base of Mattâs spine. He visualised his opponentâs pain, imagining the solid force grounding into his bones as it had to Callisto when he hit the road previously. Matt arched back, his body forming a curve like the blade of a scythe. Callisto kicked backwards again, this time his aim was higher and it too struck true, his boot smacking into the back of Mattâs head causing him to stagger forwards as a blind, twisted mess of limbs and flesh. This was the opening Callisto had been waiting for. Without hesitation he leapt up onto the side of one of the tall, derelict, industrial buildings and sprang off, flying upwards, immediately forcing himself onto another. He grabbed the underside of a nearby window ledge with his fingertips, his feet flat against the wall, his body facing it, his neck craned round to observe his enemy. At this altitude, it was eerily silent.
Matt cursed and swore, his ****y audacity had dissipated as the stinging pain in his eyes made his vision bleary and unfocused. Callisto was nowhere in sight. All he could see was an orange stretch flanked by two grey walls, as sunlight spilled down the endless road between the buildings, engulfing him in itâs fiery radiance. He stumbled clumsily as he got to his feet, swaying from side to side as he picked himself up off the hot asphalt that had before been his place of rest. His vision began to clear as he blinked out the last bits of grit from his eyes, tears streaming down his face as his watery stare began to become focused. Still, his adversary was nowhere to be found.
âCome out, you bastard coward! Itâs not over! Come out and FIGHT ME!â he screamed, his voice filling the urban chasm, causing the various vagabonds to huddle together in fear. Matt looked at them and his angry expression turned to one of pity and remorse. He was just like them, just like them. He remembered when he was scared, but had no-one to turn to. Remembered how there was nobody to nurse him after he was beaten up. If he inspired the same sense of dread in these people, was he really no more than a common thug?
The tranquil moment was shattered as Callisto swooped down like an eagle, one foot outstretched, his red hair billowing in the air currents. He let out a powerful scream as he rushed into Matt, signifying the end. âItâs all over for you!â he whooped as he met his oncoming target. But Matt was no target, he was a fighter. He contorted his body, allowing Callisto to sail past him just a few inches from his face and smash into the road. A painful crack echoed down the street. Callisto screamed out and clutched his ankle, the pain was matched with the surprise and humiliation, causing his suffering to multiply threefold. He caught the mocking glance of a vagrant, the same leering stare that Matt had just moments before when it seemed the fight was won.
Ignoring Callistoâs painful cries, Matt solemnly walked over to the curb. He calmly, firmly wrapped his hands around a signpost. âCaution, roadworkâs aheadâ it said ironically, âNobody leaves this place, so anyone who saw the sign would be doomed anyway. No use for it anymoreâ thought Matt as he pulled at it, his arms firmly clasping the pole while his legs strained against the pavement. He began to growl as the pole came loose, finally tearing it from itâs base, the rough sound of concrete ripping filled his ears and gave him a feeling of fulfilment. He hefted the weighty weapon from hand to hand, judging itâs durability mentally before walking over to the slumped body of Callisto. âNoâ¦â said Callisto softly as Matt brought down the pole on his body. SMACK! The pain was unbearable, Callisto knew he was going to die as he saw Matt lift the pole above his head again for a second attack. SMACK! He saw red as the pole indented his skull. SMACK! His vision was becoming dark and blurry, every part of his body ached with insurmountable agony, he prayed for the sweet release of death, instantly empathising with Matt. This pain to him was torture, this pain to Matt was commonplace. SMACK! Another blow to the body, he caused the crazed expression on Mattâs face, his glowing eyes, his foaming mouth. The next hit would be his last.
âCallisto.â A voice echoed through his head. Was he dead? âDo not die, Callisto.â Who was this mystery voice? Heâd never heard it before. And then it appeared. His view was a long dark tunnel with a light at the end, and standing between him and the light was a tall being. Despite the fact it was just a silhouette, Callisto ascertained that the being had wings, horns and a tail. âYou donât give up,â it said. âYou never have and you never will. As long as there is breath in your body and life in your soul, you have to--â
âKEEP FIGHTING.â The words echoed through his head accompanied by a roaring sound and he snapped back to the true reality, the reality in which Matt was bringing the pole down on Callistoâs face for the last time. Callistoâs eyes widened as the shadow lurked over him, time seemed to slow down as he saw the metal monolith come at him. The weapon was large and blocked Mattâs view of Callisto, a weak spot, a last chance. He rolled back and heard the pole impact the rough tarmac then he returned to his prone position, kicking down on the top of the pole, prising it from Mattâs hands. The young streetfighter stood, astonished, as Callisto kicked out at him, forcing him back away from his weapon, and in a hasty, fluid move, he picked it up himself, it had barely touched his hands before it left them again, as Callisto hurled the pole, like a harpoon, spearing Matt in the midsection, sending him crashing to the floor. A supernatural scream filled the morning sky, and silence descended on the road like a dark, omnipresent blanket.