The moment that bat cut across Cody’s back, I felt like the world cracked open with it—but this… this was something else entirely. I could see it in his stance. He wasn’t backing down. Not even close. If anything, that hit made him more dangerous—like pain was gasoline and I’d just lit the match. My fingers tightened around the barbed wire bat, the jagged metal still glinting with his blood. My stomach churned, but I forced it down. If I hesitated again, he’d end this.
He came at me fast. No words. No mercy. Just violence in motion. I ducked just in time, his swing missing my head by inches. My knees burned as I twisted behind him and struck out—low, sharp, deliberate. The bat cracked against the back of his leg and he stumbled, just slightly. Enough for me to breathe. But I still didn’t go full force. I couldn’t. Not with him. Not with Cody.
As he recovered, I turned and ran—my boots pounding against the canvas. I dove for the apron and yanked it up again, digging into the abyss beneath the ring like I was searching for salvation. My fingers found the cold tube, and I pulled it out—one of those long fluorescent light sticks. The kind you only see in deathmatches or nightmares. The crowd roared as I stood, holding it like a sword forged in chaos. But I didn’t have time to savor it.
I turned—just in time to see him. Cody. Coming straight at me. His grip on my barbed wire bat was terrifyingly confident. The rage in his eyes? That wasn’t the Cody who comforted me after matches, who laughed at my terrible jokes, who used to call me “Guardian” with this stupid half-smirk. That Cody was buried beneath something dark, something consuming.
He swung. I moved—but not fast enough. The barbed wire slashed across my left arm and I gasped, the white-hot sting making my vision blur for a second. Warm blood began to slide down my forearm. I gritted my teeth, refusing to scream, refusing to show him just how much it hurt. “Damn it, Cody!” I hissed, voice trembling with pain and anger. “This isn’t you!”
But he didn’t answer. I spun behind him again, fueled by desperation, and raised the fluorescent light stick high above my head. “Forgive me,” I whispered—and brought it crashing down across his already torn back.
CRASH.
The tube exploded on impact. Shards of glass scattered across the mat in a blinding shower. The crowd erupted in shock and awe. I stumbled back from the force of it, coughing as the dust and debris filled the air. Cody collapsed to his knees, his head hanging low, blood now freely running from a fresh trail of lacerations. His fingers twitched on the mat, like he couldn’t decide whether to fight or fold.
I stood there, clutching my bleeding arm, my chest heaving. The impact shattered the stick. My heart wasn’t far behind. “Please,” I said again, voice quieter now, raw. “Don’t make me break you more than I already have.”
He didn’t respond. Just lifted his head slightly… and the glare he shot me made my blood run cold. If he had any trace of himself left, he wasn’t showing it. But I still fought for him. Even if I had to drag him out of the darkness—kicking and bleeding—I would.
The crowd’s chant rose like a tidal wave—
“WE WANT TABLES! WE WANT TABLES!”
I blinked through the sweat clinging to my lashes, my chest heaving, heart pounding like a war drum. I could barely feel my arm anymore—just heat, blood, and a throb that echoed every time I so much as moved. But I heard them. And something in me, something reckless and desperate, whispered maybe… just maybe.
Maybe this’ll snap him out of it.
I turned, saw Cody struggling to one knee, head hanging low, his back slick with sweat and blood. No movement from him, no words—just the quiet shudder of breath and a coiled rage still simmering underneath. Without wasting another second, I slid out of the ring and bolted to the opposite side, boots pounding against the floor. I crouched, teeth gritted through the pain as I reached under the apron. My fingers brushed metal, plastic… and then wood. I grabbed the edge and yanked hard.
The table scraped free, long and heavy and all too familiar. I heard the crowd’s roar crescendo, and a faint smile flickered across my lips despite everything. You better appreciate this, I thought, because my shoulder might fall off.
Setting it up with one good arm and shaky adrenaline wasn’t easy. I fumbled. Nearly dropped it twice. But finally—I got it locked into place, legs sturdy, just a few feet from the ring. I slid back in, every nerve screaming, and stood across from the ropes where I’d last seen him. My lungs burned. My body ached. And still—I taunted. “C’mon, Cody!” I shouted, holding my arms out, ignoring the blood still dripping from my left one. “That all you got? Or did ‘The American Nightmare’ go to sleep on me?”
His head jerked up like I’d slapped him. And then he moved. Fast. Too fast. He charged the ring like a bull, eyes wild, bat still clutched in one hand. For a split second, I panicked—there was no room to run, no time to dodge. So I did the only thing I could.
I caught him. The second our bodies collided, I dug in with everything I had left. My knees nearly gave out, my arm screamed bloody murder—but I lifted. Pivoted. Gritted my teeth and threw. He flew over me, over the top rope—
CRASH!
The table exploded beneath him. Wood splinters. Gasps. Chaos. The crowd lost it. I dropped to my knees, gasping for air, trembling all over. My body was done. But I didn’t take my eyes off the wreckage.
Please stay down, I begged silently. Just… stay down.
But of course, he didn’t. I forced myself back up, dragging my body with what little will I had left. The ref had already started counting—
“One!”
Cody lay there, sprawled in the ruins of the table, chest heaving. Blood now trickled down his ribs, the cuts on his back raw and brutal.
“Three!”
I dropped to the floor, stumbling toward him. “Cody?” My voice cracked as I knelt beside him. “Hey… hey, you’re still breathing. That’s good. That’s good, right?”
He didn’t respond. Didn’t even blink.
“Five!”
My fingers hovered over his shoulder, scared to touch him, scared I’d hurt him more—or that he’d hurt me.
“Six!”
“Please,” I whispered. “I don’t wanna fight you anymore. I don’t want this. I just wanted to reach you—I thought maybe if I fought hard enough, you’d remember who you were. Who we were.”
His hand twitched.
“Seven!”
And then… he moved. He stood. Slowly. Like something ancient rising out of the ashes. Blood dripped down his side. His hair clung to his face. And when he looked at me—
That fire in his eyes wasn’t Cody. It was something else. Something cold. Something terrifying. I backed up without meaning to, breath catching in my throat. “No…” I whispered. My eyes burned. “No, no, that’s not you. I know you. Cody, look at me.”
Nothing. “Do you remember the first time we trained together? You called me a ‘stiff rookie with bad aim’—and then laughed when I hit you with a chair by accident.” I gave a broken laugh. “We used to joke about this stuff. You used to smile, remember that?”
Still nothing. Just that same, cold glare. I choked on a sob and tried again. “You used to call me ‘Guardian.’ You said I was your balance. Your light. Don’t tell me I lost you. Not like this.”
His jaw twitched. But the fire didn’t go away. I felt my heart crack open right there in front of him. But I stayed standing. I wasn’t giving up—not yet. Not even close. Even if I had to bleed for every memory, fight through every layer of his rage—I was going to pull him back. Even if it killed me.
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