Fighter Books Novels & Stories

This guy was new at shifting, and I could feel that he was weaker than me, but I needed to be trained in combat, which he certainly was. I tried to free myself, and I felt water fill my lungs, and the panic for air crept up on me. I fought around and was pulled up over the water's surface again. I coughed and spat out the water and then saw the guy with the bun staring at me while his grip hardened over my arms while he sat cross-legged over me. I looked to the left and saw how Edira fought the other two; one guy held her arms tightly from behind while the other sat over her. Shit.

My eyes scan the audience to find the guy I am going to fight against. "I am not sure. Rico is a big boy. Do you think you can take him ?" "Just put these on top of what you bet”. Twigs accepts the money and we turn our attention to the fight. This time there are also tiny splashes of blood floating around in the air and land far outside the ring. I wrinkle my nose and do my best to breathe through my mouth. I try to divert my urges by studying the fighter's technique. The boss catches the Butcher's arm, and with the other he sends a powerful blow into his ribs. I hear a crunching sound, and the Butcher falls to his knees. The fighter is about to get up when the Boss kicks him right in the f

My eyes were trained at their moves and I had to admit that they were both extremely good fighters. ‘Well of course they are, you bloody fool. What did you expect? A newbie throwing their life away at a competition that might land them on their death bed?’ was the valid and inarguable point my subconscious flung at me. I could feel my eyes widen at how cruelly they were doing it here. The brunette was already on his ass, trying to protect his face in vain from the punches his opponent was throwing at him. It was bloodier than the Underground Place. At least there, we had a few rules and even if they were barely paid attention to, the few that knew of them respected those rules.

The sun beat down on the training field, but it wasn’t nearly as hot as the determination radiating off the Guardians. Dust kicked up beneath their boots as they sparred, shifting between forms and strikes, sweat clinging to skin and scales alike. No rest for the weary. Not even for legends. Cheyenne ducked under a high punch from Tora and flipped her onto the mat with a grin. “Nice try, Flame Breath,” she teased, panting. Tora groaned and muttered something draconic under her breath as she rolled onto her back.

"Maybe. But we'll take you down with us." In a flash, Fabio lunged forward, disarming the enforcer with a swift and brutal move. They grappled fiercely, each fighting for dominance. The sound of fists meeting flesh and the grunts of exertion filled the air. Fabio's training and determination gave him the edge, and with a final, decisive blow, he knocked the enforcer out cold. Breathing heavily, Fabio wiped the blood from his knuckles and looked around. The battle was raging, but his family was holding their ground. They were bloodied but unbowed, fighting with a ferocity born of desperation and love.

Harsh fluorescent lights were swinging above in the otherwise dark underground room, and the smell of blood was thick in the air. Ah, smells like teen spirit. “You’re fucking dead tonight!” said the big bald guy in thick Russian accent. “Ha!” the other fighter spat and let out this animalistic growl. Blood was gushing from the side of his face, but his eyes were still full of life and fire. The two fighters locked eyes with a desire to kill, seething and snarling threateningly. With seconds, the two lunged at each other, grabbing, punching, and kicking, doing whatever they could to knock down the opponent.

FIORA “Present day” No Just No This can't be happening Someone wake me up from this nightmare before I lose my mind I don’t know how I end up on my knees. I don’t walk to where he fell l crawl.My vision is blind to all the people surrounding us and my ears are deaf to the shouts and chaotic noise. The only sound I hear is a long buzz and the only thing I see is him and lots of red Blood red Red.Red.Red Somebody…Uncle Ricardo is applying pressure on the wound to stop more of his life essence from flowing out but it doesn't stop

Her figure was too far away for me to see her properly, but she wasn't tall or too muscular, telling me that the fight would probably last a little shorter than expected. The guy that appeared out to the left of her seemed to tower over her small height, holding an already clear advantage over the upcoming fight. The people around us silenced with an intensity that seemed to peak the interest of both myself and the organisers by the looks of it. It was unusual for silence. When my fights started, the roaring of the crowds were some of the only noises I allowed myself to listen to, yet this was deathly silent, a sound nobody was used to. It seemed everyone around us took as much of a deep bre

Growling, Faith warned, "Don't growl at me, you asked for this fight. It's not my fault you keep falling." Displeased by Faith's retort, Petta sprang up from the ground and brandished a blade from her back pocket, charging at Faith. I noticed the weapon in her hands, and it seemed Faith did too. As Petta swung the blade, it grazed Faith's arm as she blocked the attack intended for her face, resulting in a deep cut on her arm. Glancing at her wound nonchalantly, Faith knew she would heal as she had trained intensively in combat and pain management. Engaging in a fierce fight, both girls clawed at each other, and in the struggle, Petta ended up cutting Faith from her elbow to her hand, causing

Sweat plasters the white t-shirt to his chest, rendering the thin cotton virtually translucent. Jesus. This is torture. "My turn," Butcher announces, stepping onto the mat. Butcher is a close quarters fighting specialist, especially good with knives. He’s entirely bald, and as heavily tattooed as I am. He thrives in the brutal, chaotic space where firearms become useless and personal space becomes a battleground. He tosses a solid black rubber training knife onto the mat in front of Oliver. "Pick it up," Butcher orders. Oliver groans, pushing himself off the wall. He picks up the rubber blade, holding it awkwardly in his right hand.