Bleed For The Banished King

Flash: lights. 

Boom: music. 

Slick: sweat. 

Heart: pumping, jumping, running. 

Eyes forward. 

"Fight!" the ref said. The gong rang. 

Finan marched forward meeting his opponent in the center of the ring. 

He could imagine it all: the crowd cheering, jeering, drinking, betting. The One Championship scout watching, noting, assessing. His opponent, Black Dam, smiling, laughing, spinning his fist mockingly. 

Dam threw a punch. Finan tried taking it, tried rolling with it, but it made his head flash, stars — falling. Knocked out cold. Never to be in One Championship, never to excel at the one thing he ever liked. 

He woke up in a pool of his own sweat, biting the blanket, clutching the sheets. The alarm was blaring off now, screaming in his ears. He smacked it off and rubbed his eyes before looking out his window. Still night. A low fog hung in the air, casting the coast in an eerie gloom. It was as if things lay in wait out there; folktales and lore, legends and monsters. He scoffed. 'Your mind's just getting you scared. Forget it. Just keep doing what you need to do.' The dream was too real, too visceral. He had often thought up creative nightmares before fights, yet this one was no doubt the worst of them. He felt a headache incoming. The fear brewing. 

'I won't let that happen. Not in a million years.' But the dream stuck with him, even as he switched his night clothes for running gear. 

…

"You have… Five new voicemails," Siri rattled, before giving a large BEEP! Followed by a pause. Finan tied the last knot off on his black sneakers before standing, clutching his leg for a stretch, and putting one of his jabra's on. The earbud squeezed into his ear with the prattle of the first voicemail — some scammer call claiming his assets were to be seized back in the States. He ignored it obviously, considering he had no assets to speak of. 

As he stretched out his other leg, the second voicemail began: "Hey Fin, buddy, it's Raj again. Just calling to let you know that my sister is uh… how do I explain this? She's been getting real hysterical man. Like, batshit hysteria. I don't know why she's been acting so strange but I think… I think if you gave her a call it might—"

He ended the voicemail. For a moment, he could only hear the whistling beach air and the rush of waves. Over the horizon, the hues of night rapidly faded into the early orange yolk of dawn. The sun rose over Koh Samui. 

"No run," Finan began, leaning down and placing his tanned hands over the sand. "No fight." Such was the saying of his Nak Muays, his trainers. With that in mind, he sprinted off, bouncing along the coast and spraying sand in his wake. Starting off with an electric pace, he slowed to a more manageable run just as the third voicemail began. 

"Listen here you motherfucker, I know you've been ignoring me. We still aren't finished, you hear? Now, I don't know where you've run off too, but as soon as I catch yo ass I'm going to beat you like there's no tomorrow. You hear me Finan? I'm going to fuck your fucking corpse–" 

For the first time in a long while, Finan smiled. In fact, he couldn't help but laugh. It was an odd thing and his voice sounded strange to him. As he passed other runners going at a slower pace, he recognized a few of them from his gym. They gave him a wave and he waved back. 

"Good weather eh?" Nung asked. His English was decent, despite a heavy accent. Finan slowed down to his friend's pace. 

"Yesterday was better," he responded. 

Nung nodded before breaking off lightly, stutter-stepping right and throwing a jab. He sprinted back to catch up with Finan. Finan raised an eyebrow. 

"What, you fancy yourself a Muay Maat now?" Finan asked. It was a style of Muay Thai focused more heavily on punches, like a Thai Boxer — which Nung certainly wasn't. 

"All I 'fancy myself' is better than you white boy," Nung said. 'Cheeky bastard.' Finan changed pace, bouncing ahead and sprinting. He could hear Nung laugh behind him before the little Thai fighter sprinted past him in an instant. Man was that guy fast. Like a flash in the night — Finan only glimpse the white of his friend's Muay Thai shorts before Nung trounced on ahead of him, still laughing. 

Finan increased his pace once more and the two went back and forth, passing each other and competing in this pointless race. Finan figured he was expending needless energy — especially since he had two training sessions after this — but he couldn't help himself. 'Besides,' he thought as he passed Nung once more, 'I'm sure it's good conditioning'. 

"You still have… Two remaining voicemails. Would you like me to–" Finan cut Siri off by just playing the damn things. 

The first one immediately stole the smile from his face. 

"Hey kid, it's me." 

Finan slowed down, much to the surprise of Nung ahead. Nung turned, jogging backwards, giving Finan a questioning stare. Finan motioned for his friend to go on ahead as the message played out. 

"Look kid. I don't know what happened. I don't know why you left me high and dry like that— but to be honest, it's fine. I know things ain't been right in your life. I know you've had… personal issues that you didn't bring to the gym. But still —- kid you have so much still going for you. I hope this reaches you. I hope you come back. Even if you don't want to box anymore, I hope you come back. But if not, well kid—- I guess this is it. This is my goodbye. I hope you find whatever it is that— that you're looking for kid. Duces." 

Finan could only walk now. A million thoughts ran through his head all at once. His breathing quickened. 'Mind on fire, nose in the mud'. God that stupid mantra kept playing through his head, over and over, like a chorus to his raging mind. 

The final voicemail was the worst one. 

"Son, I've finally found you. I'll be there in a week. I figured I might as well give you a heads up. Don't run — you don't have to run. I just want to talk, Finan. We need to talk, Finan," the voice said. It was soft and firm at the same time. His father. He hadn't seen his father in a year. Memories began ripping through now, breaking him all over. Finan stopped walking and just stared out, feeling the soreness of his legs as the sun rose above the rolling green mountains. 

He snapped himself out of the trance by splashing the seawater into his face. The salt of it stung his eyes. 'Stop thinking. Just run. Just fight. You have a fight tomorrow. Don't think. Just fight.' 

So, he went back to running. It was all he could manage to do. 

Past the coast and up through the hinterland mountains was the peak of Koh Samui, dubbed Khao Pam. It loomed in the distance as Finan trailed after Nung, the two of them making their way up one of the smaller hills. The heat ramped up and sweat trickled down his spine. He was used to it by now — Thailand was always hot as hell. 

Finally, after running a few more kilometers, they reached that peak that the two of them always seemed to drift towards. It was almost a cliffside edge that peered through a forest of shrub and green, revealing the interior of the island. Koh Samui was a tourist destination in truth, but many Thais still resided here without much trouble. Sometimes, Finan felt as if his presence in this land was wrong. He felt like an imposter, stealing their arts and feeding off their land. But no one else treated him that way. Not at the gym, not at the markets, nor even at the events. It was refreshing. Simple. Easy. 

Live, train, eat, shit, sleep. Rinse and repeat. 

And of course, watch the sunrise over the land you love with friends. Or, one short and cocky Thai friend in Finan's case. 

"I beat you good white boy!" Nung exclaimed once Finan reached the cliffside. Finan clapped Nung across the back and smiled.

"I'll get you next time. When I'm not distracted."

"Oooiiee I see, so you make excuses eh?" But Nung was smiling as well. So the two of them kept on grinning on — fighters with not a care in the world but when the next bout was and when the next meal came. 

Something caught the corner of Finan's eye. A red cloud, forming across the waves. He blinked a few times, but it still remained. Its wispy strands probed outward, swatting at the air like some flying octopus. It moved back and forth, swaying in the wind. However, he could tell that it was edging closer. And closer. And closer. 

Finally, when he rubbed the sweat from his eyes, it was gone. He sniffed. 'Guess it was nothing.' 

In later days, Finan would come to realize that the red cloud was simply the first sign. A sign that he had unfortunately missed.