“You motherfucker.” Coop spat, unable to peel himself up off the ground with the giant’s foot planted on his back. All he could do was look up in horror with his left eye while the alien played to the crowd, his mangled face a bad omen for what he’d do to Coop with that spear. The tip of his middle finger just barely brushed up against the handle of Guy. If he only could get another inch and get some leverage. “Six arms and no balls is what you’ve got.”

“You know nothing of my people!” Skidz shouted, hefting the spear up for a blow.

“Balls, you know what they are? I bet I understand your people better than you do, you fucking lout.” Skidz had a notorious temper. All he had to do was find the right insult. The alien’s weight shifted just a hair, Coop digging his fingers into the ground and pulling himself forward before being mashed down against the ground again.

“Are you calling me stupid, you pathetic excuse for a life form?”

“Stupid doesn’t begin to explain you, Skidz.” Just about there, just a few more pulls and Guy would be in reach.

“I’ll tear you apart limb-from-limb!”

“What, and ruin a possible rubber match?”

“I’ll ground you into dust, you asshole!” Skidz shifted his weight again, concentrating his strength into driving the spear down into Coop’s eye, Coop taking advantage of the slight opening to push with his feet. The smooth wooden handle of the bat felt at home in his clutches, popping his hips and rotating away from the giant boot just in time to deflect the incoming shot. Sparks flew at the collision of the spear’s metal tip and the barbs on the bat. Coop smacking the blow away from him and guiding the spear into the dirt.

An opening created itself, Skidz off-balance, Coop smashing away with reckless abandon at his midsection, explosion after explosion at each blow. The syrupy brown blood splattered all over, making it difficult to focus. Two of Skidz’s enormous hands grasped at the bat, the smell of burning flesh flaring up Coop’s nostrils while he hung onto the bat for dear life. The alien cried out while he tugged Coop up to his feet, using two of his free hands to pluck the spear from the ground, leaving the other two to batter away at Coop’s midsection. Holding onto the bat for dear life, he absorbed blow-after-blow, trying to focus on the spear and the stab Skidz was lining up.

Without fail, the blow came, the alien’s limb independence beyond admirable. Coop used his grip on the bat to tug himself up, the spear missing and going between his legs. He clenched his thighs around the shaft, twisting it away from Skidz’s hand. The brandian lost his focus, scrambling for his weapon, leaving the gruesome, torn up side of his face open. Coop released his grip on the bat, smashing his taped up fist against the open wounds on Skidz’s face, following up with another, unleashing an unrelenting combination of punches that stained the white wraps on his fists brown. The alien retreated, dropping the bat on the ground and tugging at the spear while he recoiled, Coop bringing his heel down against the shaft of the spear to halt him in his tracks, rotating on the ball of his foot to pick up the bat, summon up every ounce of his strength and swing it around in one fell swoop bringing the bat up in a flash and it cracking against the alien’s skull.

A hush fell over the crowd, Skidz on the ground in a bloody heap while Coop collapsed to one knee, unable to keep himself upright after the battle. Every breath burned, meaning he had at least one broken rib, if not more. The smell of burned flesh and the sour brandian blood was oppressive, and it felt like he’d suffocate right then and there. Leaning on the bat for leverage, he pushed himself up to his feet, the crowd letting out a roar while the klaxon signaled the end of the fight.

“Yoooour winner tonight: COOOOOOOPER SAAAABRE!” The announcer exclaimed, Coop clutching at his side while raising Guy into the air, soaking in the adulation from the crowd. Skidz’s crew rushed out to attend to him. The bearded, bloated walking corpse that was Coop’s uncle stood in the shadows, watching while he shambled back into his waiting area. His bulbous red nose served as Coop’s guide, the older man chuckling under his breath.

“What’s so damned funny?” Letting his uncle be his manager was always a bad idea. The man was a sadist and a drunkard and, knowing him, already had his next fight booked. “I think I broke a few ribs back there.”

“And your face is busted up plenty as well,” he said. “Best get you into the regen tank, boy-o.”

“Can’t I just take a minute to catch my breath?” Coop leaned back against the wall, still trying to escape the stench of Skidz and his insides. His uncle’s broad smile was an ill omen, though. “All I can smell is that bastard’s stench. Don’t tell me you’ve already got me booked up before I can think it over?”

“Can’t be letting you go soft, can we?”

“Uncle Regis, c’mon.” He remembered to flick Guy’s power off, hobbling over to the small repair station and plugging it in to charge, leaning against the table to keep himself upright. “Hows about I get a break now and then?”

“It’s not now. In a few days, that’s why I say you hit the regen tank, you daft bastard.”

“I better be getting a fat raise for whatever asshole I have to beat in next.”

“Biggest payday yet, actually.” The smile only broadened, showing his discolored and chipped teeth. “Intergalactic champ, Kriger.”

“What?” Jaw dropped, he almost stumbled to the ground, catching himself against the lip of the repair table. “I’m getting a shot at the champ?”

“Like I said, get your ass into the tank already. We’ve got a fight to prepare for.”