WFWF Title: Diablo vs. Fang (c)

BLOOD SPORT

INDUSTRIAL DISTRICT.


Fang stood at the corner of a road leading down the center of a block of factories and warehouses. The locals called that place The Industrials; a series of largely featureless brick warehouses interspersed with various factories that manufactured steel, gravel and other items. These buildings were obviously designed with function in mind over fashion. They were all graffiti-tagged eye sores of crumbling bricks, broken windows, monolithic smokestacks, twisting pipes and rusty, steel walkways. It was the kind of place where an edgy band would shoot a music video.
Fang had heard rumors of dog fights happening in the area from the homeless denizens of Skid Row. Somebody near-by was forcing animals into death matches. In addition to being disgusting acts of sadism, Fang saw that as a clear violation of the peace he swore to maintain in what he considered to be his territory. His course of action was clear.

No one knew where exactly the fights were happening; they changed locations after every fight night. All Fang was able to learn about the location of that night’s fight was the general stretch of road where it was rumored to be happening. But that was all he needed.

Once Fang entered The Industrials, the stench of canine fear and adrenaline caught his nose, drifting through the ambient odors like a distant beacon emanating out. Like a cry for help. Fang followed the trail until he came upon one warehouse in particular with lots of cars parked around it- far too many for a supposedly empty storage space. The place reeked of intoxicated, excited humans and tortured, terrified dogs. They may as well have hung a flashing, neon sign outside that read: SHITBAGS HERE.

Fang approached the gravel lot where most of the cars and trucks where parked. He walked with his hands in the pockets of his weathered flannel shirt and his eyes down. His hair hung low over his face. He felt suspicious eyes on him as he passed small groups of people socializing around their cars.

A steel door with a rectangular slot at eye level marked the entrance. Fang knocked. The slot quickly opened, revealing a pair of narrowed eyes. “Password.” A voice demanded.

Fang hesitated. He silently cursed himself for failing to anticipate this. “I… have a dog. I want to fight.”

“Password!” The voice insisted, angry now. When Fang hesitated again, the slot slammed closed.

Fang growled and pounded the steel door. The slot opened again. “If you don’t have the password, you don’t get in! Fuck off!” The voice exclaimed. The slot slammed closed again.

Fang shouted and repeatedly kicked the door. “LET ME IN!” He roared.

After a moment, he heard a click from the other side of the door. The door opened inward. A man stood in the doorway wielding a shotgun pointed at Fang’s head. “Listen, friend, if you don’t walk away right now, I’ll blast you where you stand, you hear?”

Fang stiffened and held his hands up. The armed doorman looked closer at Fang’s face and his eyes widened. He lowered the shotgun and muttered- “You- you’re Fang, ain’t you?” With the gun lowered, Fang saw that he was wearing an Orange Bullet Sr. t-shirt.

“Yes… I am Fang.” He lowered his hands.

“Ho-LEE shit!” The doorman laughed and hooted. “The boys are not going to BELIEVE this! Dude… I’m totally a wrestling fan! Have been my whole life! My name’s Rusty.”
Fang just stared at him.

“Jeeezus! I got the gawdamn WFWF World Champ standin’ at the door!” He said with a slack-jawed grin.

“You… going to let me in?” Fang asked.

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Come on inside!” Said the doorman, moving aside to allow entry. He patted Fang on the back as he entered. The door slammed shut behind them. “Sorry about the shotgun. We can’t be too careful around here; we got a lot of bleeding-heart liberals trying to shut us down. So, you into dog fighting too, huh? I guess that makes sense. You’re the dog man, right? The wolf wrestler?”

“Yeah… I’m the wolf wrestler.”

“That’s so cool, man. I’m a big fan. You got the whole Twilight werewolf vibe goin’ on in the ring. I dig that shit. I shoulda figured The Manimal would be able to appreciate a good old-fashioned blood sport.”

The interior was smokey, raucous and was quite crowded. The space was situated like an arena, with elevated seating along the parameter and an open floor around the circular fight pit in the center, where a Pitbull Terrier was currently sinking its canines into a saint Bernard to the perverse delight of the crowd.

Fang’s skin crawled as he fought the impulse to lash out. “I want my dog in the ring. Who do I talk to?” He asked.

“Oh, that’s Reggie. This is his show.”

“Reggie…” The name gave Fang a vile taste in his mouth. “Where is Reggie?”

“Oh, I dunno.” Rusty muttered dismissively. “I don’t think he’s here. See?” He pointed at a vacant wooden chair amongst the hollering rednecks. “That’s his spot. Anyway, let’s meet the boys. They’ll flip when they see who just showed up tonight!”

Rusty proceeded to introduce Fang to a whole gallery of miscreants, all the while Fang fought down a desire to break their faces. The crowd consisted of mostly drunken good-old-boys. Refraining from asking any further questions, he just nodded, shook a lot of hands, and signed a few autographs. He walked around the place, pretending to mingle. He sniffed the air and memorized all the faces and scents he could.

Reggie’s name kept coming up in conversation. It seemed this infamous Reggie was not in attendance that night. If this was Reggie’s show, Fang reasoned, then he was the mutt that needed to be put down. Fang sniffed the back of Reggie’s chair. The scent was fresh, he must have just missed him.

Fang had seen enough. He managed to vanish into the crowd, and he slipped silently out a back door. There would be another fight next week. Fang would keep eyes on some of these spectators until then. He would end this barbarism as soon as he got his hands on Reggie. He would shut down that whole fight circuit.

“Soon.” Fang promised as he walked away.

ONE WEEK LATER.

BARN IN THE WOODS.

Once Fang has your scent, when he sees your face, he remembers it. He had been tracking a red pick-up that was at the last fight for a week. Fang followed the driver home, hung back and waited with predatory patience. He eventually followed him down to a secluded barn half a mile away from the nearest gravel road. A convergence of scents confirmed that this was the place- the next fight night was happening here. The countryside was quite beautiful, and the sky was a clear, cloudless azure. Sometimes dark things happen on bright days like these.

Fang haunted the neighboring tree line and waited for all the night’s guests to arrive before he made his move. He had to be sure the man responsible for this horror was in attendance.
As he waited, in the back of his mind like an afterthought, he considered his upcoming title match with Diablo at Beyond the Black. Speak of El Diablo and he doth appear. That’s what they say. Just when you think he’s gone, there he is: Diablo. If there’s a prize fight to be won, Diablo seemed to materialize out of the ether to fight it. Fang had that in common with him. They both hear the same call to battle, and they both stay ready to answer it.

He said he was bored. Diablo was bored and he was going to get a shot at the title. Fang knew there were a lot of people wanting to unseat the Manimal as the top superstar in the company. So… they sent a devil to do what a human being could not. Makes sense. Perhaps Diablo was the devil they knew, and Fang was an unpredictable force beyond their control. Better to put the belt over Diablo’s shoulder; it would be the lesser of two evils.

Fang smiled for the first time in what felt like years. He felt a sick rush at the thought of facing someone on his level. Finally, someone who was truly a contender. The thought brought back memories of blunt force trauma. They could not have each other better scouted. They knew each other’s move-set very well. Fang would have to be unpredictable to beat him again.
A Navy-blue Camaro approached the barn. It drove into the muddy clearing that served as their parking lot. A portly man in shades with ginger hair exited the vehicle and lit a cigar. He wore diamond encrusted chains and a baby blue tracksuit that matched his car. It was the man Fang had been searching for.

“Reggie…” Fang spat the name with disdain.

The evenings “entertainment” began in earnest. Fang could feel the collective excitement of the attendees rise as the fights began. Fang squared off with the wooden rear entrance of the barn. He took a few deep breaths and screamed as he burst through the door in a shower of splintered wood.

The initial crash stunned Rusty the doorman. Fang grabbed the shotgun out of his hands and cracked him across the jaw with the butt of the gun. He threw the gun into the face of someone else. A man standing along the side of the fight pit pulled out a pistol. The two dogs that were fighting in the pit, a Rottweiler and a Doberman, stopped fighting and attacked the gunman targeting Fang. The gun fired wildly multiple times into the roof of the barn as the dogs tore into his arm and face. Panic spread throughout the paranoid crowd like wildfire. Someone yelled, “COPS!!” and people poured out of the open entrance to the barn in a mad dash to escape what appeared to be a police raid.

Fang capitalized on the confusion by fighting his way to the dog crates and releasing the captive dogs one-by-one. As they were freed, the dogs turned on their human owners. The barn erupted in snarls and screams. Fang vaulted himself off a bale of hay and dropkicked a guy wearing a MAGA hat in the chest. A guy connected a left hook to Fang’s jaw as the Manimal was getting to his feet. He swung around and smashed the guy in the nose. Fang eyed Reggie, who was still seated in his chair. Reggie pulled out a golden pistol from inside his tracksuit. He rose and took aim at the WFWF Heavyweight Champion. Shots rang out as Reggie shot at Fang without any regard for his own men. Fang used his attackers as a shield as Reggie emptied the clip into the back of one his men. Fang threw the bloodied body off him as he heard the ‘click-click-click’ of Reggie’s empty gun. The Manimal had a murderous look in his eye as he approached him.

The rest of Reggie’s men abandoned the scene after watching their boss murder one of their own. Reggie scrambled to escape the approaching Fang, but the fighting dogs all surrounded him forming a closing semi-circle of pissed-off animals.

“Stay.” Fang told him.

The dogs got closer until Reggie backed up to his chair- his special seat at ringside.

“Sit.” Fang told him.

Reggie sat.

“You must be Reggie.” Fang muttered.

“Y-yeah and I know who you are too. You’re one of them wrestlers, yeah? Man, I’m just another fight promoter. Just like the one you work for!” Reggie stammered.

“I choose to fight! I have my reasons… These animals were never given a choice. You’re scum. Give me your wallet.” Fang commanded.

“My wallet? You robbing me?”

Fang hammered his fist into Reggie’s face six times. His nose broke and blood gushed down his face. “Do it, or I’ll let these dogs tear you apart.”

Reggie fumbled for his wallet and gave it to him. Fang opened it, took out his driver’s license and tossed the wallet aside. “I don’t want your money. I’m not robbing you. I’m warning you. Reggie… I have your drivers license. I know where you live. I know your scent and face. If you do not stop what you are doing, I will hunt you down and kill you. Do you understand?” A dog lunged at him and bit his leg as if emphasizing Fang’s point.

Reggie screamed and tried to kick the dog off. Fang kicked Reggie in the head in response. “I asked you a question.”

“YES! YES, I UNDERSTAND!” Reggie screamed.

“Good boy.”

Fang turned and walked out of the barn. All the dogs followed him out. Fang led his new pack into the surrounding woods and a into a new world of freedom.