After both parties shed their entrance gear and security collected it, the bell rang. From the get-go, it was as though someone fired off a shotgun. Avi was renowned for his intensity, and it only made sense that he’d bring that to an antagonistic character whose modus operandi was to eliminate these creatures of the night. He exploded out of his corner, hurling himself forward and landing a running dropkick into Louis’ sternum with such force that Louis staggered backwards into the ropes, then fell to his knees. Gum launched from his mouth and landed all the way across the ring and onto the floor, right where Sandy and Mitch watched in horror.

“Oh no,” Sandy uttered before the two of them sprinted over to check on their third, but Louis was back on his feet before they could get to him. He stumbled forward and attempted to grapple onto his opponent, but the attempt was for naught as Avi evaded him. Meanwhile, Avi launched upward until he traversed the top rope with the nimble grace of a cat, perfectly balanced despite Mitch’s attempt to shake him off of it.

“Z!” Louis warned before a kick connected with Mitch’s head. As he stumbled to the floor, the only thought that raced through his head was that Louis needed to pay more attention to the match; the concern solidified when Avi sprung backwards like a missile, arms outstretched ahead of him, palms and fingers splayed as though ready to receive a gift. They latched onto Louis’ head with unfathomable precision and dragged him face down onto the mat with a harsh thud, shaking the entire ring.

Every single bit of motion demonstrated by Avi was airtight. He executed some of the more impactful maneuvers in his arsenal first, rather than dazzle the crowd with his usual flash and style. It was as if he didn’t want to waste any more time than necessary. But despite appearing calculated on the surface, a subdued desperation simmered below the veneer; how to crack and expose that was beyond Mitch’s experience, even with the glimpse that he caught. He wondered if he imagined it.

If Mitch could only gather up the naysayers in his life that clamored on about how wrestling was fake and lowbrow, he’d sit them down in the audience and have them witness this showcase. Surely they would understand what he meant when he referred to this as art. For each devastating blow that Louis managed to land, ferocious as the beast he portrayed, Avi rose like a phoenix, airborne and driven by divine forces. He was a flame that could not be snuffed out, and only continued to burn brighter in the face of the ongoing efforts in what was effectively a three-against-one handicap match.

He was so dangerous, so beautiful that Mitch at last allowed himself to doubt the ability of his tag partner. The guilt would eventually catch up -that much was guaranteed- but for a moment he ceased in participation of the attempted onslaught of the Hunter. With the opening available, Avi again went aerial, his body weightless as he defied gravity altogether and twisted midair far above Louis’ body, then crashed down upon it with the force of a supernova.

The match was over.

Lucian lay pinned to the mat, and the referee beat down upon it three times, declaring the Hunter the victor. Chest heaving and covered in a sheen of sweat, Avi ambled over to where Mitch stood transfixed, having the higher ground from in the ring. He gestured for a microphone, and once it was in his possession, he tapped it several times. “Wolf,” his voice was strained and breathing labored. “A deal’s a deal.”

Mitch weighed his options: he could take off, or call foul or stand his ground and fight. With his chin held high, he ignored the audience’s pleas as they begged him not to make good on his part. No less than six months ago had they heckled and ridiculed him, telling him to go fuck himself, relishing in his losses. And now they wanted him to listen to their demands? To act upon their whims? Fickle.

In the ring, Sandy tended to their fallen partner as he struggled to get up from the beatdown he endured. Mitch’s heart ached for his comrades, the only two people that he knew Zevon would risk and defy everything and everyone for. He kept his sight trained on them as Avi slipped under the ropes and approached him, grabbing onto his upper arm to further cement that he was a possession now. Wrenching his arm away, Mitch’s entire body tensed as the instinct to retaliate swelled.

Yet, Lucian made a bargain, and that warranted respect. “A deal’s a deal,” Mitch exhaled, and after a final glance at his teammates, allowed himself to be led away from ringside.