"How do you feel about tonight's fight, Jerry? This is the fight all the fans have been waiting for year round!"
"I'm feeling great Tom, tonight, we are going to witness history. A lot of people are rooting for the youngest rookie this sport has ever seen, a prodigy and a legend in the making. Marcus Callahan has gone undefeated in his first 6 fights and all of them have never gone past the first round. He is a talent that the sport has never seen and if things go the way I think it will, he will be the youngest champion in history."
"I will admit the kid's a monster. But I think you're forgetting something, man."
"And what's that?"
"He's up against Julien Fronterra. He's up against the greatest of all time."
Julien Fronterra could hear the crowd roaring, he could hear them chanting his name which surprised him. He definitely had supporters but he knew was in enemy territory. He was quite the controversial figure in the professional fighting scene and it definitely didn't help that he had no home court advantage. Any other fighter would have folded under the pressure but Julien was different. He always had been. That's why he had so many die-hard fans because it was that undeniability that he was one of those very few people who excelled under pressure.
He was moments away from perhaps the greatest fight of his life.
If he wins this, he will become the first fighter to defend two titles simultaneously.
He'll be the undefeated double champ in the lightweight and welterweight divisions.
There will not be a single critic in their right mind who could not deny his greatness.
If he'd retired a year ago, he would have already cemented his name as one of the best to ever step in the octagon; but that wasn't enough for him. He didn't just want to be "one of".
He wanted to be the only one in that conversation. When they discussed years later on ESPN who was the greatest to ever do it, his name was the one that would come up first. That name that stands above all else.
Julien Fronterra had given his life to the sport and he was going to ensure that he was the one who they'd be talking about years after he stepped out of the ring and hung up his gloves for good.
He was 32 years of age now. Yet he felt as healthy as he ever had before in his career. This was a fight that he'd prepared for. Everything was in order. His recovery, his diet and his training.
He felt light on his feet, bouncing up and down as he stepped out into the open arena.
It was deafening yet he simply drowned out all the noise.
His gloves were taped up. He had his mouthguard in.
Finally, he stepped into the ring. This was where he thrived, this is where he went to work.
Everything around him is just a distraction and ones that he will not allow to steal his attention, the only thought in his mind is how fun it's going to be to smash this boy's face in.
The fighter who stands on the opposite of the ring is young. Younger than Julien was when he won his first professional fight. The type of fighter that was the potential to become a generational great, the type that has everything to prove to the world; to the doubters who don't believe he can make it.
Finally, the bell rings and all hell breaks loose.
Intuitively, both fighters knew this was going to be a slugfest. Even with his opponent's Olympic wrestling background, Julien was a takedown artist.
Going to the ground would not be wise for Marcus Callahan. The most effective way to win this was to strike it out and the young challenger was confident he would not lose in that aspect of the fight.
His confidence, however, was misplaced.
Julien Fronterra fought like a man possessed, unlike anything he'd shown in his career before. The level of striking he bought to the table was levels beyond what Marcus had predicted the champion was capable of dishing out and he was paying a heavy price for that underestimation.
For the first time in his fighting career, Marcus Callahan experienced what it was like to be weak. His entire life, he'd been stronger than the rest of his peers. There was no one who could match his overwhelming intensity when it came to punching it out.
None of Marcus' strikes would land yet all of Julien's did.
The young challenger could feel each blow through his guard, his eyes trying and failing to read the champ.
There was no end to the champion's combinations, no tells, nothing he could use to predict what he was going to do next. A right hook, followed by another and it looks like Julien is pulling back to unleash a third. Marcus sees it. This is it, he thinks. This is where he can take back control of the fight, land a hit before he does. There it is!
Julien's fist flies past and narrowly misses Callahan who thinks he has this fight. It doesn't matter if he can just knock the guy out and he will be one of the youngest world champions in the history of the sport. He tries to throw a counter, one that will knock him right on the temple and send him sprawling onto the mat.
Marcus Callahan falls for the bait Julien has put out for him, hook line and sinker.
The champion rides the momentum of his right hook, his body twisting around 360 degrees.
A split second later, Julien lands a spinning back elbow to the front of Callahan's face.
The pain is nothing like the rising star has felt before and he crumples to the ground. He can barely keep conscious, let alone get back up. The fight is over. Julien will take apart the young fighter and give the rookie his first bitter loss.
But nothing happens. He can feel the blood dripping down, a nasty cut has opened up above his eyebrow. His head is ringing but through the red veil; he can make out what has happened.
Julien Fronterra stands over him, grinning from ear to ear. He is gesturing with his hand for him to get back up, mocking and belittling him.
This is nothing but a game to Fronterra. This is nothing more than a spectacle.
Because the reason why there are many who hate him as much as there are people who adore him was because Julien was and always would be an entertainer.
The bell rings and the first round ends, the crowd is going absolutely nuts.
Beyond any fighting ability, what Julien Fronterra excelled in was psychological warfare. If it was one thing he loved, the champ loved putting on a show.
After such a dominant first round performance, it's pretty clear to the ones who are watching that the fight has already been won.
Everything seems to be going well.
But Julien can feel it.
Something's off.
All has gone according to plan but there's…a deep, dull ache in his chest. But the boy has not landed any blows, at least not any that could do real damage. He's worried because he hasn't felt anything like this before and he's taken some heavy hits. Could his age finally be catching up to him? No, it can't be.
So the champion ignores it. It could just be jitters.
Julien tells himself there's nothing at all to worry about. He will not allow this to ruin his historic moment, the day he cements his legacy in the history of professional mixed martial arts.
The next round is not any different from the first.
The challenger is shaken to his core, humiliated and unable to think straight. He's both angry and ashamed that he's being disrespected like this.
At this point, the crowd is going wild as they watch the greatest fighter they will ever see in their lifetime play with his food.
Only the sharpest of eyes would have realized that as the fight progressed, the champ was slowing down. His breath is getting more ragged and he seems to be sweating profusely.
Suddenly, there's a sharp stab in Julien's chest and he stumbles forward.
He must be getting tired, Marcus Callahan thinks.
That's what the crowd thinks too but Julien knows that something horrible is happening to him and there is nothing he can do to prevent it.
His vision blurs, he can feel the shortness of his breath and his limbs feel sluggish.
The young challenger does not hesitate to take advantage of the sudden chink he sees in the champ's armor. He swings wildly, desperate because he knows this is his only chance to win this fight and he lands. Julien's head flies back and he stumbles, somehow able to remain standing.
Every instinct is screaming at him to fall but he delivers a fierce front kick to drive his opponent back, sparing him from defeat but only for a few seconds.
Julien realizes that his heart is failing him.
Marcus stops and Julien thinks that the young rookie is trying to treat him the same way as he had in the first round, trying to humiliate him as Julien humiliated Marcus. But the look on Marcus' face is one of concern.
That's when Julien realizes that he's on his knees, his body refusing to listen to his cries for it to continue fighting.
The ground rushes up to meet him as he crumples to the floor of the octagon.
The referee jumps in, stopping Marcus from jumping in and finishing him off. He makes an instant decision and waves the fight off.
A TKO loss, the first one in Julien Fronterra's perfect professional record.
The crowd roars in approval at the upset that the young rookie has somehow been able to pull off against all odds but there's no sense of triumph in Marcus' face.
Instead, there is…genuine worry.
The referee has the same expression and those sitting nearest to the octagon can see it too. The referee starts shouting for help and that Julien needs immediate medical attention.
The commentators are silent and soon the once-deafening crowd follows suit. This is not a moment for celebration.
Paramedics rush into the ring and the crowd gradually realizes that this isn't just a defeat, it's a tragedy unfolding in real time before their eyes.
Julien Fronterra lies on his back, staring at the blinding lights above.
He could feel it in his bones. He can feel it in his soul that he is about to die.
The paramedics yell something he isn't able to make out and he can't help but let out a little laugh despite the situation he finds himself in.
Who woulda thunk it? Who would have thought that he'd end up dying in the ring? What better way to go out than doing what he loved?
He felt pride well up inside of him, knowing that he quite literally fought to the bitter end.
He could feel his chest getting tighter, it was getting harder to breathe with each passing second.
Julien Fronterra loved fighting. It was his outlet, his passion and eventually his whole life.
Then dread begins to wash over him as the reality finally hits him. He's about to die. Other than the fans, who would miss him when he was gone? Who would mourn for him, cry for him and remember him for who he was? To become that great, you cannot have a life that is normal. And Julien had chosen this life, pushing everyone away so that he could make this craft the only thing that mattered in his life.
In his dying moments, Julien asked himself: Was that sacrifice worth it?
He wanted to have people he could call his own. He always told himself he'd start a family after this fighting career was behind him; once he'd finally made something of his life. He had felt like deep down, he needed to become somebody who deserved all of that happiness because he never deserved it before all the victories he'd earned in the ring. He was a nobody.
He'd always wanted to be the father he never had. He'd always wanted to meet a girl, one he'd fall in love with and one he could call the mother of his children.
He'd always wanted to come back home, knowing that there would be people waiting for him; waiting to greet and embrace him.
To get to the level he had reached in this sport, he'd had to sacrifice all of it. He'd pushed people away. He'd achieved what he'd always set out to do.
But to answer that question of whether or not doing all that was worth it for the life he'd lived...he'd known the answer all along.
He'd give it all up for people he could call his own. People who he loved and who, he knew, cherished him the same way.
Tears began to well up in his eyes, sobbing now.
It didn't matter if he went out fighting. He just knew he never wanted to go out alone.
Yet, he was aware his time had come and the worst part was that all he could feel was regret.
Not joy for what a fruitful life he'd lived, not pride for what he had been accomplished in the 32 years of his life but regret for the things he knew he could've done; held back by his own fears and insecurity.
Finally, his heart beats one final time and Julien Fronterra draws his final breath. He whispers something only he can hear amidst the chaos.
"If there's a god out there… please…give me another chance. Let me live again."
The world fades to black and he can feel nothing. It is a void, endless and empty. Julien can feel himself falling endlessly through the darkness. So this is how death feels like. He thought it would've been more painful.
Suddenly, there is a green light that explodes before him and his fall is abruptly halted. Slowly he begins to rise and there is nothing he can do despite the fear rising within him. There are cracks, as if this reality of the afterlife is being forcibly torn open. He should hear nothing, see nothing, feel nothing, BE NOTHING.
What the fuck was happening? Could he not even rest in peace after death? Was this hell? Punishment for making a living off of hurting people?
He'd never ever felt terror like this even against the most dangerous of humanity.
The being that emerged was not human. Julien could barely make out a silhouette, a figure who is obscured in an emerald sheen that seems to emanate around him.
"You want a second chance? Very well. I will watch your progress with great interest…Julien Fronterra. Prove to me you are a worthy investment." The voice sounds amused. It does not sound human.
With a wave of a hand, his soul that should have been suspended in the abyss; waiting for judgement to the afterlife, begins to ascend. He could feel the resistance, the chains of death that should have been untouchable trying to hold him down yet they broke apart like they were nothing.
His prayer had been answered.
In a single gesture, he had been granted a second chance.
With that, Julien Fronterra was reborn.