"WELCOME TO THE FIGHT OF THE CENNNNTUUUURRRRYYYYYY."
The announcer fulfilled his duty on the microphone in an arena filled with thousands of patrons, viewers, and global leaders gathered in the Thunderdome, located in the former desert outside Las Vegas, Nevada, known as Sandy Valley. What was once a scorching and arid wasteland is now a lush oasis with a thriving urban landscape. It was known that Vegas was the city of sin, but the Valley gradually became the city of redemption. Ever since the 20th century, there has been a persistent desire to look beyond the stars to see what lies further. The fascination with exploration was catalyzed when the United States' National Aeronautics and Space Administration sent its first probe, Explorer 1, into space on January 31, 1958. The scientist then only had their theories, but none had any inclination of what or who would answer back. It was decades of messages and probes being sent into the deep, vast continuum of space. Still, in the 1980s, there were subtle instances in which something was apparent. Civilians noticing objects in the sky, glitches in spatial matter, and unprecedented advancements in technology, among other phenomena, were observed to be anomalies. Most people considered it a conspiracy, but it was a symptom of what was to come.
In the 1980s, the Moxian race first made contact with the Homosapiens of Xtrata, also known as Earth. It was hundreds of years of observation from their leaders and fellow governing species, with no reason to go beyond that interaction. Until the Higher Galactic Council's most trusted league of scientists made a discovery that suited the interest of all life forms to abandon that stance. From then on, the rule of engagement was solely about convergence.
The first ten years of humans' awareness of beings that lived beyond the Dwarf star in the Milky Way Galaxy were primarily spent in laboratories and fighting rings, not to wage war, but to prevent annihilation. World leaders agreed to the terms laid out by evidence and inarguable truths that Earth would soon implode and burst into trillions of star dust particles if steps to reverse its trajectory were not taken in a timely fashion. The deal, with the motive of saving life itself, was that Humans would participate in what was later coined the Arena Wars by engaging the nine species of the Higher Galactic Council in rounds that were each symbolic of their culture. Since it was widely known that Humans were motivated by passion and aggression, it was announced that their round would be centered on the art form of fighting.
Preparation for the Arena Wars was complex but intentional. After the Moxians made contact, civilians on Earth also needed to be aware of what they were fighting for. Knowledge is a double-edged sword, with the truth being the relief to the hearts of many and the fear of what could be the death to most. Earth's governments, regardless of administration, knew the severity of the turmoil that would ensue if everyone knew the planet's imminent demise, which meant campaigns had to ensure that they prevented chaos. They followed their duties with propaganda and inciting rhetoric. The second phase was assimilation. Earth had access to the Higher Galactic Council, and so did the Council with Earth. Humans had lived near beings that, years prior, they had not even known existed. The urge to capture and destroy was at an all-time high. The goal of the Arena Wars was always to harness these primal instincts, pushing humanity to its main event.
"Representing Earth, coming at 210 pounds from his hometown, Boston, Massachusetts. The MANIC, the MYTH, Earth's PROOOOTECTORRR. DON CLAY DAVISSSSS!"
Humans stomped their feet and roared in celebration. Don "Clay" Davis was in the building, representing his triumph and valor. He would be the first to take the mantle and defend Earth, and he proved worthy of the chance to do so. Once the arena wars were announced, qualifying tournaments were hosted to find the fighter that would represent all of Human civilization. It took 5 years to complete, but Davis worked his way up the ranks. When he reached the finish line, he was greeted with hope and admiration in his broken state. He was an orphan who lived on the streets until a fight club promoter found him stealing food rations in the back of a restaurant. His mania stemmed from his survival mode, which became a defining aspect of who he was as a fighter.
As he climbed the tower to prove who would be Earth's protector, he recognized that his best chance of winning was to study martial arts forms and replicate them as much as possible. His precision and gift allowed the people to call him Clay. Just like a mold, he would execute moves that the best-skilled soldiers were unable to do. Cockiness followed after his newfound fame, and he enjoyed it all. From his looks, he was a strong man with masculine features. His muscles were untouched by steroids and chiseled by his fighting experience. His eyes had a dark brown hue that matched the brown and black highlights in his short haircut. He was a desirable man before he acquired wealth, but his financial success made him a target, attracting unwanted attention.
On cue, Davis walked toward the boxing ring to his entrance music. A song that was performed in American English but felt in the hearts of all humans who believed in the might of their race. Davis felt his heart thump in his chest and breathed with each step. He made his way up the stairs to the ring and engaged with the crowd. 'How colorful.' He watched people from different races scream at him and cheered for him. This was his element, and it felt intoxicating, just as it had before.
"And now representing Moxiana, coming in at 200 pounds from her hometown, Cartha. The SISTER of SAINTS, The GUARDIAN OF THE GARDEN, The HOLY ONE. ALFEAAA VOS FOXHOOOOD."
A hymn unknown to man played and soared, causing the Moxians to sing along in allegiance. The fighter emerged from the opposing side of the Thunderdome from the shadows of the locker rooms and made her way down. Humans gasped in shock and stared. The Moxian woman had to be nearly 7 feet tall with a voluptuous body that glided through the chanting crowd. Davis smirked and relaxed as he saw his opponent. 'A woman. This should be easy.' He didn't care about her height and viewed her as a practice dummy. He fought men larger than her before, and they would be defeated just like them. Alfea Vos Foxhood walked up the stairs of the ring and made her way to her corner. She was calm and felt light. Unbothered by the cries and praise of the crowd, but was moved by the patriotism. Both fighters were in the ring together, and the final ceremonial act was about to begin.
"And now, please welcome Joe Anders, the referee for tonight's match."
The crowd clapped and cheered for the referee as the light danced within the Thunderdome. Anders looked seasoned with wrinkles and scars on his arms and face. He had a mic in his ear and ushered the fighters toward the center of the ring. Davis made his way closer to the center and got a better view of his opponent. 'Damn.' She was taller up close, but her beauty was even more of a weapon. The Moxian had eyes that bloomed with her lavender cornea and darkened pupils, complemented by her golden iris, which felt godly as one gazed into them. Her beauty was absolute, but her capabilities as a warrior were unseen.
"Alright, tonight's fight will be a 5-round match with 5-minute increments. There will be no weapons, tech, or timeouts. If you are incapacitated, you will lose; if you cannot fight, you will lose. All hits are legal, with no limits to the placement. Do you both agree to these terms?"
The fighters nodded in agreement and spoke in unison.
"Yes!"
"Yes!"
"Let's begin."
Anders pointed in both corners for Alfea and Davis to step back and wait for the bell to ring. The crowd in the Thunderdome was on the edge of their seats, waiting for this fight to begin. No matter what happened, it was agreed that history was being made, and they were living it. Once the bell rang, all betting tables and services would be closed to ensure the fairness of the rules and would remain closed for the duration of the fight. So many emotions were felt, but they were all channeled into chants and screams of passion. It all died down for a moment, awaiting the match's commencement. Davis prepared himself by jogging in place and then went into his fighting stance, with his fists guarding his face and his feet in a pouncing position. His breathing was the only thing she could hear, while her eyes were the only thing he could see. 'Snap out of it.'
*Ding Ding Ding
"WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHH"
The crowd alerted Davis to the beginning of the match, and before he had time on his right foot to advance toward Alfea, his vision went black.
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[21 hours later]
Davis groaned as he came to reality. He felt his body was lying on a white, fluffy quilt while he dealt with soreness and the pains of a long, arduous day.
"Ah, shit."
Davis forced himself up and set up on the edge of the bed. His hand immediately went to his achy ballsack and felt his penis erect. 'What the fuck did they give me?'
"He's up."
Davis's vision took in the room he was in. 'This ain't no damn medical bay.' There were vines from a plant that stretched throughout the bricks of the room, with bright flowers that bloomed on its branches. Brown dressers with golden handles were on the back walls of the room, and he sat on a bed that was big enough to be considered queen-size. He adjusted his noticeable bulge when he heard an unfamiliar voice from the room entrance.
"It isn't."
