First Circle

[Shun Lei]

He's always restless before a fight. Nervous energy, born not of fear but of anticipation. I watch him pace back and forth in his room, each footfall carrying the quiet echo of flesh on concrete. He doesn't like showing his emotions in front of me. It eats at him, somewhere deep inside. It eats him alive that he can't hide himself from me.

But he knows he can't. Even if he wanted to, he couldn't. The bond between us, it keeps no secrets, it hides nothing from me. There's plenty he doesn't know of me. I suspect he's fine with that. As am I. There's plenty of things he doesn't need to know, things that would only cloud his mind and distract him from what's truly important.

The fight. The victory. The glory. MY glory.

He's stopped. He sees me watching him. He looks up, eyes boring into me like a drill. It's a stare that could melt the nerves of lesser beings, sharpened with untold rage. It's so sweet that he cares about me like that. He knows how to warm a heart.

His words echo in the room, falling surprisingly gentle, like raindrops on a leaf. "Where are you sending me now?" The tone betrays none of his anger, instead carrying...curiosity. Like a child asking after its parent, or the inquisitive coo of a dog who's found something new. It's endearing, like so much about him.

"Boston, my pet." I reply, a smile in my voice. "The man who calls himself the Blood God has founded a new organization, bringing in elite competitors from around the world. God has a new temple, and I feel it only appropriate to pay tribute."

He pauses, nodding again, and turns his back. Not out of disrespect. Nothing so brazen. He simply needs to collect his thoughts, marshal his emotions. He burns so hot, my pet. Like the heart of a forge, he must be controlled, he must burn in a direction, or he would burn himself to the ground with his own fury. His hands clench and unclench, an unconscious reflection of a conscious emotion. He rattles at the end of his chain so, tense with the fury of untold wrongs. It's adorable.

His voice is calm once he speaks, some might say dissonantly so. Knowing what he is, knowing his purpose, it would seem ill at place. But not to me. I know why the caged wolf howls, and I know why the caged hurricane whistles. "Do we know who is first?"

There's the enthusiasm I was looking for. Barely audible, imperceptible to anyone who doesn't know his truest workings...but like a bellow to me. My lips curl in a smile. "His name is Kyle Frye. Don't worry, my pet. I'll be handling the...negotiations. You just go out there and do what your heart sings for."

He pauses again. A quick nod, and the door slides shut. The preparation has begun. It's always the most exciting time, just before he's unleashed on a new audience. I can't wait. It's making me feel all sorts of things.

I think I'll go for a bite. And then...then, it's to work.

---

Hello there, Combat Wrestling. My name is Aurel Karolyi. I am the...manager for your newest attraction, the one who will capture the eyes and fascinate the senses like none else. The man with the heart of a storm and the fury of an inferno. He strikes like a thunderbolt, and he is as relentless as the day is long. This man's name is Shun Lei. He is my charge. He is mine. And he is here to pay tribute to the one who brings us all here to worship: Spike Kane.

Hello, Spike. Thank you so much for accepting my request. It brings me great joy to see Shun compete on a stage such as this, especially one which has been set by such a...connoisseur of the violent ways as yourself. After all, one is not crowned as the Blood God without spilling quite a lot of the stuff. I promise you, much blood will be shed in your name. With a name like Combat Wrestling...who could expect otherwise?

The first to be brought upon the altar is a man by the name of Kyle Frye. With a heart the size of his native state and the rugged toughness of the lonesome plains, he intends to sweep in and take Combat Wrestling by storm. Living the dream, enjoying his time. Admirable. Curious. Foolish.

Shun Lei takes great pleasure in his work, as any great craftsman does. But this is not a dream. This is no fantasy to get lost in. This is a task, and he will set to it with the dedication that it requires. This week, it requires him to break you. So you will be broken, like so many unruly bulls have no doubt been broken beneath your frame. It's nothing personal, darling. It's just the nature of things.

I do hope this serves as a...suitable demonstration of his talents. If not, improvements must be made. And I do not neglect improvements when they are needed. Neither does he. Open your eyes, ladies and gentlemen. Settle in. Make yourselves comfortable. The spectacles that you will see can only be found in his works, by my hand, for your enjoyment. Like what you see? Of course you will. And I promise, there is so, so much more to come.

Step into our temple, won't you? We're just dying to have you.