Page 14 of Always A Villain
No rules. No mercy. Knockout or death.
They’re here to prove something, to show why they earned the rank of General. But me? I’m here to remind them of one bloody fucking truth.
They’re nothing compared to me—the Reaper.
“Come on, Rory! Griffen’s got our seats reserved!” Kyla chirps, practically skipping ahead, weaving through the crowd like it’s nothing. Meanwhile, my muscles scream with every move, but I grit my teeth and push through it, not about to let a little pain slow me down.
Olivia's bitch stunt is still fresh, but Axe’s reaction...that surprised me. It’s stuck in my head, replaying, repeatedly. I'm not sure what to make of it—of him.
The crowd pulses around us, buzzing with that wild, electric excitement only a fight night brings. Axe’s first fight is about to start, and the arena’s packed—bigger than any of the earlier matches.
We weave our way toward the main area, and I spot Griffen waving us down, Arsen next to him. Somehow,they’ve scored the best seats in the house, front and center, for tonight’s battle.
“What did I miss?” Kyla drops into her seat with a casual air, like we’re here to watch a movie and not people bleed out for sport.
“Nothing yet.” Griffen tosses her a bottle. His eyes lock on me, brow furrowing as he hands me a beer. “How are you feeling, doll? I still can’t believe Olivia pulled that shit.”
“She’s a bitch,” Kyla throws in, sipping her drink.
“I’m fine. Pretty sure I broke her nose,” I say, a smirk tugging at my lips, and he grins back, all approval.
“That’s my girl.”
I glance around the packed stands, seeing people crammed in, standing wherever they can in the walkways. “This place is insane.”
“Not every day you get to watch a legend in action,” Arsen says, eyes still glued to the screen showing replays of earlier matches. He doesn’t even look my way when he says it, like it’s a given. But it piques my curiosity.
I turn to Griffen, raising an eyebrow, and he picks up where Arsen left off. “Axe is a lone wolf—doesn’t play well with others.” He laughs, like that’s the understatement of the century. “Barely toleratesmeon a mission. You’re lucky if he doesn’t snap your neck just for breathing too loud. Arsen, Priest—maybe a handful of others—are the only Sovereigns he’ll ever agree to work with. And now people get to witness him in action—not just hear the stories ofthe Reaper.”
The stadium darkens as the music drops, and the crowd surges with anticipation, a low rumble spreading like wildfire. Lights flicker, and the cheers rise as the announcer’svoice booms over the chaos.
“Ladies and gentlemen, the moment you’ve all been waiting for.” The words roll out like thunder. “A fight guaranteed to be abloodbath.Representing the Generals… Axel Hawthorne!”
The moment “Corpse Collector” by BloodThinnerz blasts through the speakers, the crowd goes absolutely wild. Everyone chants“Reaper! Reaper! Reaper!”like they’re about to storm a castle.
“Oh my fuck,” Kyla shouts, her voice barely cutting through the madness. Yeah,oh my fuckis right.
There he is, strutting in, shirtless and glistening like some Greek god. His muscles are ridiculous—every movement screams raw power, and it’s almost absurd how perfect he looks. His black combat pants hang dangerously low on his hips, highlighting that V-cut that should be illegal. It’s like he walked straight out of a magazine—every muscle defined, sharp enough to cut glass. His messy brown hair suddenly reminds me of our impromptu fuck session in the medical area…my thighs involuntarily clench.
He's striding to the middle of the ring, his expression sending a chill down my spine. This is the real deal—the man I've heard stories about.
The killer.
The assassin.
The Reaper.
The first fight begins, and Axe moves like a force of nature. It's clear from the start that he's not playing with his opponent.
That poor bastard doesn’t stand a chance.
Axe dodges and strikes like he was born to do this. He dances around the other guy’s attacks like it’s a bloody waltz. When he sees his opening, he unloads with a series of punches and kicks that send the guy crashing down, and just like that, it’s over. The man’s out cold, sprawled on the sand while the crowd explodes in cheers.
Associate paramedics rush in, hauling the limp body away, leaving behind a bloody mess.
The next rounds blur by, each fight a gorefest. I want to look away, but I can’t. Axe moves like a predator. He’s not just fighting—he’sdestroyingthem. And the crowd is eating it up. Every snap of bone, every scream—they thrive on the violence. They can’t get enough—the more brutal the fight, the more they scream for him.
By the sixth fight, the noise makes it impossible to think. A fighter’s jaw is ripped clean off—ripped—not broken, not dislocated, just…gone. Blood sprays across the ring, painting the arena in red. The opponent’s screams cut short as his body crumples.
