Duel with a Devil[Davy Jones/Luke Johnson]

[Augustine]

In one of the many islands of the Caribbean a dingy out of the way bar sat in one of the many towns across their shores.  There were countless like it, places where one could get a stiff drink, maybe something stronger if they knew who to ask.  Places where people didn't ask too many questions but were happy to play a game of cards or pool.  This one though, was friendly territory for the Descendants of Charon.  Normal folk could still come in, but your average traveler would usually not come anywhere near a joint like this.  

There was also a basement, a large one where a big caged ring sat in the middle of the room.  A good place for fights, and that was one of the main draws of this place, and the reason someone not of Charon's kin might wind up coming here.  Normally it wasn't a problem, and tonight...wasn't entirely different in that regard. 

Of course, the night's festivities were being directly advertised in the basement as a Duel with the Devil.  A dark skinned man in nothing but shorts was being helped out of the ring by a few other people, and across from him, sitting down and drinking a beer, was the devil in question, Davy Jones.  He was dressed in a pirate shirt, or poet shirt, depended who you asked.  An old-fashioned form of long-sleeved shirt, with ruffles of lace down the front.  His was a blood red in color, and came with dark, not quite black, brown breeches.  His hair would normally have been called white, but looked starkly darker compared to his deathly pale skin, a red eye peering out of his right socket, with an eyepatch over the left.  He looked old, terribly old and not all that physically built. 

However, everyone here had seen him lay that man out with a single punch, before going back and getting a beer from someone standing in his 'corner' to do just that when a match was over.  To those not in the know, it was easy to dismiss his strange appearance as just an albino man with a mean right hook, he didn't look THAT inhuman, just...just off enough to unsettle some folk.

The wager was simple, you didn't even have to win.  Last five minutes in the ring with Davy Jones and walk away five thousand bucks richer.  So far only one person tonight had lasted longer than one.

[somemekboy]

However, one traveler HAD managed to stumble into this out of the way dive bar, and although he may not have been demonic in nature he certainly wasn’t just someone normal. He had been spoiling for a fight ever since he came from the States, and tonight he intended to get one.

Luke Johnson, once-prizefighter, had been given the privilege of watching a few other contenders as they jumped in the ring and were subsequently carried out. He never liked going into a fight completely blind, although there was still some challenge in learning on the spot, because that’s how people get brain damage. Of course, he didn’t feel sorry for the saps who had to get knocked down for him to acquire that information; they jumped in the ring expecting to beat the definition of insanity and they took a loss for it. And from their sacrifice came knowledge: the so-called devil’s opening punches. They came hard, but Luke was good at being built to last. And in his experience with fights both legal and not, one hit artists usually weren’t.

Sure, he probably had a couple more punches up his sleeve but that keeps it interesting. No sense in making his one shot at true challenge a cakewalk after all.

The man who stepped into the ring was monolithic. He was broad, built like a linebacker, with muscle stretched over all six feet and six inches of his form. His posture was nigh impeccable, and his body looked as if it was carved from marble. His face, on the other hand, looked like it was shaped from clay and then fumbled it when putting it into the kiln. Clearly, to anyone watching, Luke was a fighter of some experience and had taken more than a few blows to the jaw to prove it. Upon entering the ring, he took the posture not of some freestyle combatant but of an American circuit boxer, left foot leading to indicate a right handed dominance. The prizefighter didn’t rush in to the ring, instead circling around his opponent and waiting for a setup.

Can’t watch what your opponent does if you’re too busy swinging wildly, after all. Besides, waiting for an approach has always worked before.

[Augustine]

The problem with so many people getting laid out so easily was that observers didn't get much of a show. At least that was how it worked in theory, but the devil in the cage clearly cared about giving a show. Most of his opponents that Luke had observed didn't even get a proper stance out of him. Davy weaved around them easily, dodging blows a few times, letting them give a good effort before delivering usually one solid punch. A small couple of men had managed to take more than one, but so far no one had managed to take more than two.

Despite the lack of clear stance though, he moved like someone very experienced with a fight. It was clear he didn't just rely on brute strength, not with the way he'd weaved around some of his more aggressive opponents, his footwork in particular was excellent, and a keen eye would tell that despite the casual relaxed look of his upper body, he was always placing his feet very carefully.

When Luke entered the cage the devil stood up, cocking his head as the one eye looked him over. Davy's eye was...peculiar, black sclera and an almost glowing red iris, but with the bright lights of the cage that could be easily dismissed as a trick of shadows, the way the light played off his brow to cast a deep shadow over a sunken eye socket. Hell that lighting might actually prevent someone from seeing anything odd at all...at least until they got closer. "Well yer a big one ain't ya lad?  Not often I meet someone near as tall as me, hahaha!" Jones commented, one hand on his hip, the other simply hanging, but his shoulder was tilted, so instead of at his side, his arm was in front of him, shoulders leaning forward slightly. Hardly a strong stance, but he could move his arm up to attack or defend far quicker than an inexperienced fighter might expect.

"Not gonna strike? Heh, well I suppose the rules don't say nothin' about havin' to hit me." His accent was definitely quite old fashioned, and he circled around Luke even as Luke did the same for him. After a moment, "Well if ye insist lad." The first blow didn't come from his hanging left hand, but from the right hand on his hip. A sudden hard jab, a blow that sure could hurt if it connected, but the force imparted in that fist was enough to lift your average human male off their feet if it connected!

Of course, Jones had already pulled this trick earlier while Luke was watching, so perhaps he was expecting the quick hit from the right.

[somemekboy]

Luke said nothing. He wasn’t a talker when it came time to throw down. Talking was a waste of energy that could be spent focusing. He only grunted at his opponent’s words, his hands positioned midway up his body in order to more easily bring them to ready depending on where the ‘man’ standing across from him was about to swing. His eyes flit from place to place, seeming unfocused but in reality a result of Luke watching every angle of approach for every trick that Davy could pull. He wasn’t unnerved by what he saw as extensive body modifications, and in fact barely registered the fact he was missing an eye and looked like he came out of a geriatric ward at all. Everything was put into watching the chest and hands.

And if paid off with a right jab. Perfect.

Normally, Luke would have to settle for blocking this type of blow and then moving, but preparedness made for light work. Instead, the prizefighter shifted his stance and dropped low. But he didn’t just move his arms, no, instead he swapped entirely to a southpaw style with his right foot leading. In other words, he had just swapped handedness on the fly as he evaded the jab by dropping and rolling his body inwards. The result? Luke was now just behind Davy’s arm with a left hand cocked.

It was time for the one punch artist to get what was coming to him.

While the left hook that came after was no true Johnson-brand laying out into someone’s weakest point, it was still a left hand from what appeared to be an ambidextrous powerlifter impacting where Davy’s liver should be on a normal human. This would also not be the blow of a normal man, and although it was slightly curtailed as to avoid a fatality from blunt force induced liver failure this would indeed make a normal man lift up a tad from the rising angle of the hook.

But Captain Davy Jones was no normal man, was he?

[Augustine]

Observation, preparation and a hell of a lot more skill and physical ability than the others that had attempted this challenge all came together for one hell of a pay off. Alas, Luke was going to find out this One Punch Artist was more than capable of taking a blow himself, even one like this. On the bright side, the strange old man seemed unable to react in time to what was a perfectly executed and planned out counter.

Luke's fist would slam directly home and...it didn't feel right. There was give, Jones' body lifted off the ground and then he went stumbling back, but that impact. This person's body felt harder than a normal human's in some way, different in a way that was hard to describe other than just...'harder.' It didn't feel like he'd done no damage, and Jones' reaction did indicate that he felt that impact, but either it didn't hurt much, or he was used to feeling pain, and it wasn't readily apparent which it was.

Jones would stumble backwards before catching himself, eye wide, before he grinned, a grin showing off oddly pronounced canines as his hands came together to clap. "Bravo! First lad to land a hit on me all night! Hahaha, I was beginnin' ta get bored!" Then he'd lunge forward, a wide toothy grin on his face. This was different than what he'd been doing in those other fights. This was Jones making a serious effort all of a sudden with little warning. Both hands flew out and closed in, palms open, a classic attempt to clap them on either side of a foe's head, specifically the ears. That could hurt tremendously, and basically demanded some kind of defense, and Jones expected his opponent to defend.

The clap was a trick, oh it was a genuine earnest attack, but at the same time as he stepped in to deliver, the foot he hadn't stepped in on was lifting, rising high to try and place a foot on his foe's chest and kick hard to try and slam them into the cage wall behind them! There was clearly more to Jones than just a one punch artist, clearly.

[somemekboy]

No way. No. Way. Luke refused to acknowledge both what he was feeling and what he was seeing. There is no way some albino geriatric could just SHRUG OFF a punch to the liver! He’s seen men in their prime crumple from something like that. Hell, some liver punches have sent stronger men than Davy Jones to the hospital!

Well, apparently stronger men than Davy Jones seemed to be. Something was off more so than just the no-selling of potential organ failure. It felt closer to stone than muscle, and Luke has punched a lot of dudes in the abs to know the difference. But this wasn’t even on any heavily muscled area. In fact, the prizefighter didn’t even think you could WORK that area out specifically. So why did it feel like hitting a wall?

The clap went noticed, meaning Luke was not completely disoriented as he brought his arm up on his right and tucked his head to the left, but this left him open to the kick that delivered him to the back of the cage. Luke rolled as he hit the ground and took a second to put the wind back into his lungs as he got up. He had trained his stamina precisely for this reason: to keep going.

And then he was back at it. Luke closed, guarding his chest, back in a right handed stance. He didn’t take the fight too fast now, circling and throwing jabs and hooks. Nothing too straining, and if they slipped through Davy’s guard it wouldn’t be anywhere near the liver shot from before. That was because these weren’t to damage.

It was to probe him for weaknesses, any gaps in an iron defense, while leaving enough wind in the prizefighter’s sails to keep going for the long haul. It didn’t hurt that the strikes were ANNOYINGLY persistent in case Davy Jones had a hair trigger temper.

[Augustine]

Ah he landed the kick. That was the real goal, the clap would have been nice but it was optimism at its finest to think it would have landed. The best feints weren't actually feints after all. As Luke hit the wall of the cage and rolled Jones grinned, pointing at the man and rubbing the area that had been punched. "That was quite the blow there too lad, that's gonna be smartin' come mornin'."

Luke was coming back in and Jones would respond by bringing his own fists up. It was...very similar to a boxer's stance. It wasn't mockery but it seemed like something Jones was actually comfortable with, his stance was a bit odd though a bit..old-fashioned? Luke would circle around him and Jones would respond in kind, playing defensively as Luke jabbed and lashed out at him. Well if Jones was telling the truth that punch had hurt him, but compared to how that would have affected a human, how much could it have really?

"Oho, couldn't lay me out so now you're playin' fer the time win eh?" Jones said after dealing with several exchanges. His defenses were good, his footwork made him quick on his feet and he definitely did know boxing. He didn't seem as good at boxing as Luke was, but he could respond quickly and his fancy footwork usually made up for when he was slow or a little poor on adjusting his arms. "Well can't just let ya do that can I?"

He was going to go for something, he was literally warning Luke, and then he stepped in. His left leg lifted up, a hard quick knee aimed for the gut! Just as before though, Jones wasn't going for just one blow, his arms would fly out at the same time, attempting to seize his opponent's shoulders and then slam his head against Luke's in a brutal headbutt that could send a normal man flat onto the floor of the ring!

[somemekboy]

The Johnson Style, as Luke had taken to calling his combat form, was nothing if not adaptable. In layman’s terms, a trick that worked once doesn’t usually have a chance of working again. Now that Luke was playing conservatively, keeping his strength and his effort from being overextended, he could see the dual pronged assault coming and react accordingly. The main issue was Jones’ footwork, as was apparent, necessitating waiting for an opportunity where footwork could not be readily applied.

For instance, during a knee or a kick.

This time, when Luke left himself open for one prong of the attack to land, it was the feint. He noticed the inbound headbutt and the attempted clinch with a nearly imperceptible smirk. One foot off the ground, hands too high to bring to bear, and an open midsection on an opponent complaining about how he was going to feel a liver shot in the morning. It was a brutal, yet beautiful, arithmetic.

The right hand dropped back as the left rose to guard the head.

In tandem with Davy Jones’ assault, Luke Johnson launched his own counterpunch. Once again using ambidexterity offensively, he leapt forwards with a right straight that had him shift over to Southpaw towards the end of the punch so that no force would be wasted trying to retract the blow. This was aimed squarely at Davy’s solar plexus, and unlike the liver shot this was no mere punch with some extra force. No, this was a Luke Johnson Layout, something that has sent even mountains of men over the ropes. All his drive went into planting five knuckles along what passed for Davy’s diaphragm, attempting to end this fight either with a tap or a knockout from his opponent being simply unable to breathe.

However, this Hail Mary was not without its downsides. The first came in the form of Davy’s knee making contact with Luke’s liver thanks to the angle of the strike which sent radiating pain throughout his body. Such a blow was not easily suffered through, and it likely took up much of Luke’s reserve of stamina to do so. The other problem was evident in the end of the punch: it was a finishing move first and foremost. If Davy so much as recovered a second or two quicker than Luke was betting, it was effectively a free shot at Luke’s head or organs.

Which is why he prayed, prayed with all his might, that the so called devil would be felled by this mortal man.

[Augustine]

Luke really did have a lot of talent, a lot of skill hard won from battles past. Jones could tell, see in the way his opponent moved, the way he drove hard on even the slightest opportunity. He could even mistake it for someone who had actually given thought to how to fight a devil bare handed, but not quite. There were certain tells, the well restrained sense of surprise he'd caught on his opponent when Jones had taken that liver punch so well, and the fact that he'd just traded blows with a devil.

Jones wasn't particularly durable by devil standards, nor particularly fragile, but devil hunters of all stripes realized that devils could just...take punishment in ways a human could. There supernatural physiology made it harder to find specific points to hit to cripple them. You hit a human hard in the right spot, like the liver, they just go down, but a devil?

It was a near flawless exchange for Luke. His fist dove into Jones' gut, and Jones' eye did widen, his lips parting briefly. He did feel the impact that was for sure, and it smarted something fierce. However, Jones had taken bullets, blades, axes in countless battles. If he couldn't react and think fast even after taking a fierce blow he'd have died centuries ago! With an arm up to defend it was obvious Jones' attempt to grab and headbutt wouldn't work, and with a brutal blow to his gut lifting him up off the ground, he abandoned the attempt outright. 

Instead, Jones grit his teeth, jaw clenched tightly, his black and red eye opened wide as both hands shot down...and seized Luke's wrist.  Even taking that blow full stop, Jones had the willpower and wherewithal to act and he wasn't out.  Luke had definitely given as good as he'd just gotten, Jones was impressed, that was a punch with some power, but it wasn't enough to lay him out.  As a result of that, the ball was in Jones' court and he was going to show Luke something that any mortal man would swear was impossible.

Luke had but a few moments to recover, to try and somehow pry his arm free of that devilish grip, bony fingers squeezing with unnatural strength into his arm, hard enough to leave nasty bruises.  Jones was prepared to take another hit to accomplish his next step, feet shifting, twisting as he turned and pulled.  If Luke couldn't get free, his feet were going to leave the ground as Jones would begin twirling him about the cage.

Maybe a power lifter, one of those huge, heavy set men built for maximum strength could pull this off, but surely not so easily, not so casually, not after taking a punch like that.  Once Jones got spinning, trying to retaliate would be tremendously difficult for a normal man, once, twice, three times he'd spin Luke about the cage, before on the fourth he'd lift the powerful boxer up into the air, and let all that momentum carry the man down into a hard crash into the floor of the cage!  A blow that could lay out a mortal man, and leave Jones still standing...if resisting the urge to rub his solar plexus.

That punch had stung nearly as bad as getting stabbed had, if Luke could somehow get out of this or stand up, he might have a chance of winning if he could land a few more hits like that.

[somemekboy]

Dread. Dread was all that Lucas felt as fingers clamped into his arm with a level of force that should have been all but impossible. Jones’ liver should have been scrambled by now! His internal organs should have been freaking out at being battered like that! This guy wasn’t human! Not in the sense of ‘he is being overly durable’ but simply ‘this person does not have basic human anatomy’. By surgery or, and Lucas feared this the most, actually being a demon Jones had become inured to all the major shots that could knock out even the most hardened of fighters.

And he still had the strength to spin Lucas around like a top. This was not good, in fact far from it. But the thing about a swing was that he could breathe and go with the twirl just enough to catch his breath.

When he did, he grasped Jones’ arm with the one that was being held for the twirl and started trying to lay into Jones’ temple, head, and throat with his other arm. He couldn’t afford a headbutt when that could just rattle his own cage and a knee or elbow was out of the question. It also just wasn’t his style. Lucas could practically feel the lactic acid build up in his muscles and joints as he pushed himself further and further beyond. Failure was not an option, not against a foe like this. He didn’t even know if Jones would stop at a knockout now that the pirate lord’s blood was up.

It was potentially do or die and a loss could be fatal. His pride and his body couldn’t allow it. Granted, he had found what he wanted if he did somehow die, that being a worthy foe. But I’m his first stop out of the states? There was a whole world to see, and Lucas wanted to see it all. So he punched and punched, trying to shake Davy Jones’ brain out of his skull with the fervor of a man fighting for what he believed would be his life.

[Augustine]

It was funny, Lucas was feeling dread as he encountered the supernatural for the first time in his life, or at least the first time that he recognized it as such, but Davy Jones was having a whale of a time! He'd been getting a bit bored of folks who couldn't take a single hit and couldn't keep up with him for more than ten seconds. There was a grin on his face, showing pronounced canines as he went into that spin, but that grin turned into a look of surprise at what Lucas did next.

The sheer strength of will to grip Jones' wrist and then manage to reach forward, even while being swung through the air, to manage to punch at Jones while being spun with that force! Was this that old human adrenaline? That funny chemical that let humans perform feats of superhuman strength and speed? That let the trapped climber hoist a rock of over a thousand pounds off of their own body?

Even if it was the angle wasn't great, trying to deliver good punches while one's body was being swung through the air like a child's toy was a real pain in the ass. Lucas didn't need to deliver a strong punch though, just one strong enough to get Jones to loosen his grip and that was easier. Jones was genuinely so stunned by this action that it just took a couple punches and...one lucky jab right into the black eye of this devil, and the devil's grip was loosed!

Lucas would still go flying, but he'd roll across the arena and slam into the far wall of the cage. It'd probably hurt, put some bruises on him for later, but it was far easier for a body to take than what Jones had initially planned to do! Jones himself stepped backwards, rubbing his eye with one hand before blinking, the red iris fixing on his opponent as he chuckled. "My, my, that was one hell of a stunt laddie! And look," Jones would lift a hand to point out, to the digital clock counting down outside the cage. "We're halfway through the match, you've gone leagues ahead of anyone before, let's hope you don't start running out of steam now eh?" Then he'd bring his hands back up in that old-fashioned boxing pose, and even give Lucas time to get back to his feet properly. It was clear Jones was enjoying this, and not worried about trying to end this quickly.

[somemekboy]

He did it. Instead of broken bones and potential paralysis, Lucas walked away with only some bruises and the removal of any wind still held in his lungs. He was beaten, he was battered, but he wasn’t broken and he sure as hell wasn’t finished.

In hindsight he probably should have held on for longer, but he was pretty sure that he’d have lost fingers if he held on for longer. But there was still a fire now, in spite of having his back scored by the chainlink, a fire that wasn’t going to go out anytime soon. Lucas was sure of it now, Jones was something unnatural, but he could be hurt. The boxer’s opponent was not invulnerable, he just had a different set of vulnerabilities than most. The head was still a weak point, a weak point that could be rattled like anyone else. Lucas had been right to apply force, just not to the kidneys.

He had to unload into Jones’ skull with the force of a man possessed.

Sure, on any other man in any other situation Lucas would think that such a maneuver was life threatening. It was a savage blow to someone’s nose and jaw, at the least someone’s losing teeth but at the most someone was going to get cartilage shoved through their brain. But two things drove his otherwise unthinkable tactic, the first and foremost being that the man still somewhat feared for his life. Davy Jones may not want to kill him NOW, but maybe an actual fight awoke something within the demon that could turn a professional bout murderous. However there was also the matter of durability. A crunching blow to the face might just knock him out instead of kill him. In any case, Lucas didn’t feel like he was gonna go to jail over this regardless of the outcome.

The fighter dropped into stance, waiting patiently. The stance served a twofold purpose, foremost providing time to recuperate and breathe. He needed to revitalize himself after that beating, otherwise he really could be knocked out cold. But the covert reasoning for the stance was to bait out another wide-armed and open charge. Hopefully Davy would run at Lucas, but unlike the prior exchanges Lucas intended to deliver a sharp whack to the face rather than the midsection.

All he had to do was wait.

[Augustine]

This was proving to be an entertaining bout. When was the last time Jones had had a fight this fun? A couple centuries? Then again did it really count if he was literally frozen and unable to do a thing at all? So discounting that it was...probably a few years? Honestly discounting that time on ice it was some fierce competition but surely at least a couple of years. He grinned, his vision clearing, the blur steadily fading as that red eye fixed on his opponent. "I don't think anyone's told ya my name, eh lad? Thing's being framed as a Duel with the Devil if I recall rightly."

He chuckled, before bringing his hands up towards his head, adopting a boxing stance, still a bit old-fashioned in nature and began to approach. "Name's Davy Jones, a real pleasure to trade fists with a stout lad like yerself. So let me do ye the courtesy of taking things a bit more seriously."  He grinned, showing those prominent fangs.  Then he stepped forward, it was almost a hop, using his impressive strength to quickly cross the distance, but his hands were up, and one of them would lunge forwards, seemingly attempting to just slam through whatever defense Lucas had...but it was in truth a feint.

The other hand had gone low.  It was a common but effective trick.  Aim one attack high towards the head, and let the real hit go low for a body that was going to be more open and unprepared, a brutal blow to the ribs, but if Lucas was fast enough, if he could see through the trick?  This wasn't the open armed rush he was hoping for.  Davy Jones was treating him like a serious opponent and this wasn't full of all the openings from before, but as long as he didn't take that coming, crushing punch to the ribs?  Even the blow towards his face, being a feint wouldn't hurt that much, he'd be able to take it even if it'd sting, and that would give him his opportunity, his opportunity to put his all into one blow and hope it was enough to take down the Devil.

[somemekboy]

DAMMIT! Lucas nearly let out an audible swear as Jones went in serious and went in hard. His opponent’s arms were too close together and his guard was lowered. There wasn’t an obvious trick, Lucas had no way of knowing whether the rib shot or the head blow was real! And unlike before, Lucas didn’t have a chance to figure out which Davy would lean towards since either blow landing hard enough could end the fight with the pugilist on the floor. If either of those attacks hit he was through, but he might never get another chance to drill Davy Jones in the skull! It was either complete defense or complete offense, hope to catch Jones in the face or try and turtle while looking for an opening that might never come in time.

All the while, Lucas chewed on what Jones had said. Davy Jones. No way the demon in front of him was actually an undead pirate or something. It had to be hubris, either that or some kinda demonic reflection, that made the thing in front of him pick up that name. AND he said he was going more serious, meaning that the devil Lucas knew wouldn’t be the devil that was going to be fighting from now on. Caution wasn’t seeming like the best action here, and it is there that he got an idea. Hubris. He’s expecting Lucas to cave immediately from this next set of blows or be intimidated into submission. Meaning that resistance will not be expected or tolerated.

Meaning that the only solution was to go truly all out. Lucas crouched down a bit as Davy approached. It was time to lay.

A hand cocked back.

Him.

Lucas leapt, taking one major departure from standard American boxing as he did so.

Out.

The goal of Lucas’ assault was now clear. He had decided that between defense and offense the only solution was an offense so dramatic it wrapped around to being defensive. His speed was far from superhuman, but it was still quite a leap thanks to the man’s skills with fancy footwork. But a leap nonetheless, one designed to get inside Jones’ guard as fast as humanly possible. Davy had roughly human reaction times based on the fight, which was a benefit. This hopefully entailed Lucas’ moving body throwing off the aim and focus of the one eyed pirate. It would also hopefully cause him to hesitate on his own between continuing the punch and bringing up a block. In either case, a meaty hand backed up not only by the boxer’s peak strength, stamina, and willpower but the force of gravity on his muscular and beaten frame would fly square towards Davy’s nose.

If the attack hit, Davy would likely be floored by this charged blow. If it was blocked, their bodies would collide. If it whiffed, Lucas would meet the ground with great force. Regardless, this was the final punch of the round if Lucas had anything to say about it.

[Augustine]

All of it came down to this. Could Lucas land this blow? All it would take was for this devil to be able to shift his head to the side, to just move a little bit and it'd all go to waist, and Lucas would take the full force of the coming blow to his ribs. However, while Davy Jones was far stronger than a man, and as a devil he wasn't as vulnerable in the same ways, he wasn't notably faster, his reflexes weren't notably better. Lucas not defending against the feint, nor against the blow for his ribs was one thing that Jones hadn't thought the man was fool enough to try!

Jones though didn't hesitate, he didn't falter in his own attack. Part of this was that there simply wasn't enough time, he couldn't react fast enough to change course! Lucas' fist was going to smash right into the devil's face, but it was unlikely that Lucas was going to avoid that right fist from crashing into his ribs. However it wasn't as bad as it could have been. His blow landed first, and that did lessen things, it meant the devil's full weight wasn't put into that. It would probably hurt, it might throw him back against the walls of the cage again but maybe nothing would break.

For Davy Jones however, that full force blow had no mitigation, his one eye widening as his body reeled backwards. His feet backpedaled, as if struggling to keep him upright, his body swaying like a tree caught in a gale, that right hand stretching outwards before the devil toppled backwards onto the floor of the ring. The reaction was of course instantaneous, the people watching from outside the cage hooting and hollering. Some were cheering on this trepidatious challenger who had just toppled the devil, others were loudly demanding for the devil to get the hell back on his feet but...it seemed Jones wasn't getting back up.

[somemekboy]

Lucas was thrown into the cage again, but would do something that in no other circumstance would be horrifically stupid: he interlocked his fingers with the links of the cage. What would normally leave him a sitting duck for more than a few strikes helped prevent his legs from giving out due to the strain just that little bit longer. He spent that time becoming acquainted with the sight he now witnessed.

Jones was on the ground. Jones was not moving from his position on the ground. Jones did not even appear to be breathing but that could be a result of whatever possession or demonic features he had.

In other words, the boxer had laid the devil the hell out. He had won. He had survived.

Luke Johnson had spat in Satan’s eye and lived through the experience.

There were no words that could summarize the moment, not for the pugilist. He couldn’t bring any phrase to mind beyond just the sheer, primal relief that he felt in response to the whole scene before him. After all that time in the states, fighting but never being challenged, he had truly punched above his weight for once. The boxer was ecstatic, for he knew just one thing: Jones was probably not the only one of his kind. A new breed of fighters dwelling beneath the skin of the world. Luke just had to find them. And with the purse from this fight he could do just that.

But that was planning too far ahead, too far ahead when this could just be another faint. And so, entwined with the chains and heaving deep, Luke waited for the count before he made his move.

[Augustine]

Luke waited, and the count finally started, a man from outside the cage, who had at least something approaching a microphone would begin counting loudly. One...two...three...

The devil on the ground still didn't move. Four...five...six...seven...

The crowd was going crazy, there were probably a lot of people pissed about lost bets. One had to wonder if anyone was going to try and skip out of paying what was owed. It was probably quite the upset after all.

Eight...
Nine...
Ten...

"and we have our winner! Our plucky challenger walked into the devil and didn't just outlast him, he laid the good captain out!" It was over, Luke had for sure won. With that declaration the cage would be opened back up, and he could step out. A few people were already stepping in to pick up the old Devil and drag him out. It looked like he was finally coming around, too late to matter, the match was over.

[somemekboy]

There was little celebration. It wasn’t the time, nor the place. Lucas had likely made a lot of people very angry given his stubborn refusal to get knocked the hell out by Davy Jones and he wasn’t inclined to stand around. He followed the demon out, staggering as he recovered his wits. His sweater and other clothes were recovered, and he took his winnings in hand as he formulated his next move. He has been challenged for once, yeah, but where would he go from here now? He didn’t want to stay, just in case Davy woke back up or the betters decided to exact a pound of flesh, so he couldn’t Mr hang around here for answers. So the pugilist decided to continue his globetrotting adventures. Maybe Europe now, or perhaps Japan. He always wanted to see the blossoms at least once, and maybe carbo-load on some ramen bowls.

Lucas nodded to the congregation as he headed for the door and spoke the only words any of them had heard him utter.

”Gentlemen.”

The walk to the airport was swift and tense, for the fighter did not even stop for food as he booked a swift flight out of there. He had a world beneath the world to see, after all, and a lot more fights to get into.