Before starting my journey as a horror writer, I did work for several video game and comic book companies as a character and concept artist. Currently, I'm an aspiring horror writer hoping to break into the industry through what opportunity I may find. My writing credits are mostly that of published work in the music and comics industry as well as two self-published books so far, "Hellverse: Shadows of the Abyss" and "Hellverse: Bloodlines of Kaos." Whereas most authors these days cater more to modern audiences, my goal is to rekindle the poetic violence and debauchery of classic literature. I prefer a story to build to something instead of giving everything right from the start.
You can read more by Sean right HERE.
NO SHIFTING
by
Sean Walusko
The rules were simple; one round in the pit with a winner determined by knockout or submission. Fights didn't go to into overtime, they went on until one of us dropped.
I’d won the last four matches of the night and was already feeling the toll that each punch, kick, slash, and bite were taking on my body. Every technique was allowed for us to use at our disposal, except for one crucial thing; no shifting. Guess it kept things fair. I had two fights left before the last match to determine who got to reap the rewards. All I had to do was hold my shit together.
“You good James?” Alex, my trainer, asked.
“Yeah. Just give me a minute,” I answered.
“Next guy is about your size. Don’t give him an even match.”
“I don’t plan to.”
Alex was right. He was a new blood, like me, and if I was anything to go by, this was gonna get messy.
He had that same smirked snarl across his face, like when I first started. I’d let him open, get winded and pull guard when he wasn’t expecting. Play the low game.
Once the bell rang, dust flew up behind us as we rushed at each other. The crowd hollered and cheered while we exchanged blows. Blood and sweat spattered the chain-link fence around the cage as we danced to the tune of bare fisted combat. He played into me, getting winded quick. Once he let his guard down, I pulled him down with a rear naked choke. Fifteen seconds later, he tapped.
Next.
Alex lifted me up and washed me off. “No shifting,” he kept reminding me.
“Five minutes, not bad. Next guy is smaller and faster. Keep your eyes on his feet. He’s gonna dance around you. Stay focused,” he said.
“Let’s just get this over with.”
“Keep your head together. You know what’s at stake.”
“I know.”
When I saw who was up next, I breathed a heavy sigh. He was smaller but faster than me. A lot faster. He’d been in the game longer and was on his way to hitting the big time. Something all of us wanted for our clans. I wasn’t about to let him take that spot without working for it though.
Right when the bell rang, the ugly fucker kept drooling and hissing while hopping up and down like a madman. He started running circles, trying to trip me up into going for a low sweep. I’d seen him fight. The minute I tried to sweep the leg, he’d jump and get me in a triangle hold. So I went for the sweep, and when he jumped, I grabbed him mid-air by the neck and slammed the back of his skull into the dirt. Twenty-seven seconds and he was down.
I’d done it. I was about to face the current champion. My nerves were shaking with excitement, fear, and anticipation. This was it.
“How’re you doing?” Alex asked.
“I’m good. I feel good.”
The crowd was silent. Every clan was watching. Lycans, dhampirs, ghouls and vamps glared on as they waited for the champion to emerge.
“You win this. You win, and we get first hunt. No more scraps up top.”
Our little tournament determined who got to scour the human world for a year. Too many of us killing people at once drew too much attention. This way, we kept the pecking order fair.
“Trust me, I know,” I said.
My words felt heavier once I saw the reigning champ step in. He was an old world killer, a nosferatu hailing from the days when tyrants put people up on spikes in front of their castle walls. Octavius was his name, a once respected general in the Roman legion, now a pit fighter under a shitty night club on the Vegas strip.
It was time.
I clenched my fists and cracked my knuckles, still stained with ghoul and cryptid blood, keeping my wrappings tight. He towered a good foot and a half over me, smiling with his dead purple lips, exposing four rows of sharp vampiric teeth. I reared my own fangs, which paled in comparison.
I was ready.
When the bell rang, he’d already gotten behind me. How? A quick strike to my back sent me flying. I got up and gave him a right hook to the jaw.
Nothing.
He got me with a flat-footed kick to the chest and it hit me like a dump truck. Something was wrong. Very wrong. His next few attacks broke a few of my ribs and my left ulna snapped like a twig as I tried to block a hammer strike to the face. I tried going for an uppercut, but he grabbed me by the throat and pulled me close.
“Down, boy,” he growled.
That’s when I smelled it. Fresh blood. This fucker had just fed.
My instinct kicked in and I let out a thunderous roar as my muscles broke and reshaped into an image of full lycan terror.
“NO SHIFTING,” Alex yelled.
Too late.
Octavius laughed while I tore my claws across his chest. He took each swipe without a flinch before I sank my teeth into his neck. Then, the sudden shock of electric prods from pit security sent me to my knees.
I’d fucked up.
“Winner by default, Octavius of the Nosferatu. May your hunt bear fruits of plenty,” the announcer broadcasted.
Alex came to my side. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“He cheated. He fucking fed. I smelled it.”
“You got baited. Goddammit James. You…”
Alex paused once he saw the pit boss get up in the audience. A guard was whispering something into his ear. The boss took a glance at Octavius then to the pit crew and soon my opponent was surrounded.
“I guess they found a body,” Alex said, surprised.
I looked up at him and smirked.
Turns out the wolves are hunting first, after all.