Barrett slammed onto the rooftop with a bone-jarring impact and instinctively rolled with it, crashing straight through a crooked chimney. Bricks shattered and scattered across the tiles as he tumbled to a stop near the roof’s edge.

  “Shit,” he groaned, pushing himself onto one elbow.

  Grimm was circling high above, wings cutting slow arcs through the bright sky.

  “Couldn’t fly a little closer to the ground?” Barrett muttered.

  KRAA—KRAA.

  The raven banked and swooped once in reply, as if offended by the criticism.

  Barrett dropped back onto the warm tiles, facing up into the sunlight. The sky above EverGreen was a clear, brilliant blue.

  What the hell…

  Why does this keep happening?

  Grimm circled lazily overhead while Barrett struggled to keep his eyes open. Inside his body, he could feel his blood racing through his veins like a river in flood. Whatever poison they had slipped into his drink, it wasn’t weak.

  But neither was he.

  His body fought back with brutal efficiency. The resistance he’d gained from Rebby’s strange gift surged through his system, burning against the toxin and slowing its spread.

  Even so, the stuff was strong.

  Stronger than he’d expected.

  His vision blurred slightly as the sunlight smeared into gold across the edges of the rooftops.

  “Damn…” he muttered weakly.

  The last thing he sensed was Grimm spiraling downward toward him.

  Then the world went black.

  —2 years ago—

  Barrett stood in front of a heavy bag, shoulders rising and falling with slow, exhausted breaths.

  The bag swayed in front of him, its chains creaking softly overhead. Sweat dripped from his hair and ran down his arms as he drove another combination into the bag. The dull thump-thump-thud echoed through the nearly empty gym.

  He had been hitting the thing for a long time.

  “Stupid-ass old man,” Barrett muttered under his breath as he shifted his stance. “Probably out chasing babes.”

  His fists snapped forward again.

  A brutal combination—jab, cross, hook, hook—each strike landing with enough force to send the heavy bag swinging wildly on its chain.

  From across the gym, laughter drifted over.

  “Wow,” a voice called out, amused. “What did that bag ever do to you?”

  Another chimed in mockingly. “Board don’t fight back, big guy!”

  Barrett glanced over.

  Across the mat, near the octagon cage, a small group of fighters leaned against the fencing. Most of them were prospects—guys who worked the front desk, cleaned the mats, or helped with classes in exchange for training time and a place to sleep.

  They were watching him now, grinning like bored hyenas.

  Barrett turned back to the bag.

  Ignored them.

  “Hey, big fella,” a deeper voice called from the cage.

  Barrett paused mid-combo and looked over again.

  One of the fighters stepped forward inside the cage, resting his arms across the top of the fence.

  “Why don’t you come up here and get some real work in?”

  Barrett wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his wrist.

  “I’m good,” he replied flatly.

  “Yo!” the man shouted again.

  Barrett didn’t respond.

  “Come on, Rick, leave it,” someone else said.

  “I said YO!” the man barked louder.

  Barrett sighed and turned around fully this time.

  “Buzz off, man,” Barrett said. “I know you’re cutting weight and the calorie restriction’s got you cranky, but leave me out of it.”

  A few of the others snorted with laughter.

  Rick’s expression darkened.

  The big fighter swung himself out of the cage and dropped to the mat with a heavy thud. He began walking toward Barrett, thick arms swinging loosely at his sides.

  He was thick, solid, and tight. He had the kind of muscle built through years of grinding fights and brutal training camps.

  Barrett didn’t move.

  Rick stepped closer.

  “Mind breathing through your nose?” Barrett said casually. “Your keto breath is killing me.”

  More laughter from the sidelines.

  Rick took another step forward until he was nearly chest-to-chest with him.

  “Come on, wiseass,” Rick growled. “You look like you want that work. So let’s get it.”

  Barrett’s jaw tightened slightly.

  Baha had told him—very clearly—not to start trouble at the gym.

  But this…

  Could this really be considered his fault?

  “Yo Rick, seriously,” one of the other guys called. “Let’s call it and get back to work. You got XFL in two weeks. Don’t be stupid.”

  Rick glanced over his shoulder.

  “Nah,” he said with a shrug. “We’ll go light. Just some light work.”

  Then he turned back toward Barrett.

  Up close, Rick’s face looked even rougher than it had from across the room. He had a crooked nose, scarred cheekbone, and thick cauliflower ears that stood as a warning for anyone wise enough to heed it.

  “How about it, sport?” Rick said. “Light work?”

  Barrett inhaled slowly through his nose.

  Then exhaled.

  “Sure, kid,” he said calmly, watching Rich’s eye twitch. “Let’s get that ‘light work’.”

  He stepped past Rick, bumping him with his shoulder as he walked toward the cage.

  —

  Barrett stood in the corner of the cage, rolling his shoulders loose and flexing his hands inside the gloves.

  Across from him, Rick watched.

  The man’s eyes tracked Barrett’s every movement with the sharp focus of a predator sizing up prey. He bounced lightly on the balls of his feet, loose and confident, like someone who had spent years inside cages just like this.

  One of the prospects—the guy who had tried to calm Rick down earlier—walked over and leaned against the cage near Barrett’s corner.

  “Yo man,” he said quietly, lowering his voice. “I know you ain’t about this life. Protect your chin, dance around a bit, and tap the first chance you get. I’ll jump in and pull him off.”

  Barrett glanced at him without stopping his warm-up.

  “Hope you made your boy the same offer,” he said calmly.

  The man paused.

  He studied Barrett for a moment, then a grin slowly spread across his face.

  “I like that,” he said, nodding. “I really like that.”

  He stepped back from the cage and gestured to another guy nearby.

  “Alright,” the guy called out, clapping his hands once. “Three rounds. Two minutes each. Keep it clean and don’t go crazy.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  A few of the prospects leaned closer against the fence.

  “Fight.”

  Barrett stepped out of the corner and began circling toward the center of the cage.

  Rick raised a glove.

  A sportsman’s gesture.

  Barrett had seen it a thousand times. He lifted his own glove to meet it.

  The moment Barrett’s hand came up—

  Rick snatched his glove back and fired a vicious low kick straight into Barrett’s hamstring.

  THWACK.

  “Yooo, Rick! Not cool!”

  “Come on, man!”

  “He’s gonna feel that one in the morning!”

  Voices erupted from outside the cage.

  It was a cheap shot.

  The pain flashed through Barrett’s leg like lightning, his muscle instantly tightening in protest.

  He limped forward anyway.

  Rick grinned.

  “That’s a lesson the bag won’t teach ya,” he sneered.

  So that’s how it is.

  Barrett smiled back faintly.

  “Appreciate the lesson.”

  Rick frowned slightly at the response.

  Before he could say anything, Barrett stepped forward and threw a punch.

  Rick slipped it easily.

  The bigger fighter ducked under the swing and snapped a jab into Barrett’s face, then another quick shot to the ribs.

  “Slow,” Rick said, tagging him again with a short hook. “Real slow.”

  Barrett tried again, another big overhand.

  Rick leaned away from it effortlessly and answered with a sharp combination, finishing with a hard kick that slammed into Barrett’s midsection.

  Air rushed out of Barrett’s lungs.

  He bent forward slightly, one hand dropping toward his stomach as he fought to pull in a breath.

  Rick chuckled.

  “Damn,” he said, shaking his head. “You makin’ me feel like a bully.”

  Laughter rippled through the watching group.

  Barrett straightened slowly.

  His stance came back together, though now he looked clumsier. He was breathing heavier, shoulders sagging slightly as if fatigue had already set in.

  Rick watched him with mild disappointment.

  Barrett stepped forward again.

  Same motion.

  Same big overhand.

  Rick ducked it without hesitation.

  He shifted his weight, already preparing the counter—

  But this time Barrett didn’t stop the motion.

  He stepped through the punch.

  His body twisted with the momentum, turning the missed strike into something else entirely.

  A brutal elbow.

  It crashed downward directly into the spot Rick’s head had dipped toward.

  CRACK.

  The sound was sharp enough to freeze the room.

  For a split second, nobody moved.

  Then Barrett exploded forward.

  Fists came down in a savage storm, short hooks, punches, relentless combinations that drove Rick backward before he could recover.

  Rick stumbled and collapsed onto the mat.

  Barrett followed him down immediately, mounting him before the bigger fighter could regain his bearings.

  His fists rose again.

  Then—

  “STOP!”

  The voice cut through the cage like a gunshot.

  Barrett froze mid-swing.

  He knew that voice.

  He pulled back slowly and looked up.

  Standing outside the cage door, arms folded and face dark with irritation, was an old man in an aloha shirt and panama hat.

  “Damn it, Barrett…”

  “Shit,” one of the prospects muttered.

  “It’s Baha.”

  Barrett blinked once, then gave a sheepish half-smile.

  “Hey, coach.” Barrett said.

  The old man stood just outside the cage, arms folded across his chest, face unreadable. His gaze drifted past Barrett and settled on Rick sprawled across the mat, blood streaking from his nose and pooling against the canvas.

  “Clean his ass up,” he said flatly. “Then mop the mat and go home.”

  The prospects moved instantly, scrambling to follow the order. Two of them hurried inside the cage to help Rick up while another ran to grab towels and a mop. Whatever curiosity they had about the fight disappeared under the weight of Baha’s presence.

  The old man finally looked back at Barrett.

  For a brief moment something flickered in his eyes—annoyance, maybe…or something closer to pride.

  Barrett gave him a small nod.

  Then he stepped down from Rick and moved toward the edge of the cage to grab his gear.

  “Hold up, Barrett.”

  The words stopped him halfway through pulling his shirt over his shoulder.

  He turned.

  Baha jerked his chin toward the open gym floor.

  “Your ass owes me some cardio.”

  Barrett silently mouthed a curse and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment.

  Of course.

  —

  Barrett walked out of the gym into the cool night air of the city.

  His shirt was soaked through, sweat still clinging to the fabric and pressing it against his skin. The night air cooled it quickly, turning the damp cloth almost refreshing against his back and shoulders. His flip-flops slapped lazily against the concrete with each step, the soft rhythm echoing down the half-lit street.

  His mind was quiet.

  Training had a way of doing that. It burned everything unnecessary out of him until only the essentials remained.

  Baha had made this particular training even harder. Forcing him to do extra work to make up for the damage he’d done to one of the gym’s prospects.

  It had been another good day.

  A simple one.

  He had woken up early, trained hard, pushed himself until his muscles trembled and begged for mercy. Now he was walking home, exhausted in the best possible way.

  Shower. Food. Maybe a little television and video games before sleep dragged him under.

  What more did a man really need?

  It was Friday night.

  Around him, the city was waking up.

  Cars rolled past filled with laughing voices. Music drifted faintly from open windows. Groups of friends walked down the sidewalks dressed for a night out, their energy bright and careless.

  Families wandered the streets as well, with parents pushing strollers and couples walking slowly, hands linked.

  Barrett noticed a man standing outside a small restaurant ahead of him.

  The guy had dressed for the occasion. He had on a clean shirt, nice shoes, and his hair was combed with the careful attention of someone hoping to impress. A far cry from Barrett’s long mess. He would have to fix that one day. Or not.

  A moment later, a woman hurried up to the man, beautiful and slightly breathless, apologizing for being late.

  The man smiled easily, waved off the apology, and opened the restaurant door for her.

  They stepped inside together.

  Barrett slowed for a moment, watching them through the window as they took their seats.

  He studied the guy almost out of habit.

  Didn’t look stronger than him.

  Probably couldn’t bench half of what Barrett could.

  Didn’t carry himself like a fighter either. His balance was off, weight a little forward in the shoulders. No discipline in the way he moved. The dumb bastard even sat with his back to the door.

  So why…

  Why was that guy living the life Barrett wanted?

  Barrett sighed quietly.

  Some people were just born into normal lives.

  The rest of them had to claw for every inch.

  He shrugged and kept walking.

  No point complaining.

  Complaining was for weenies.

  And Barrett Donovan was definitely not a weenie.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket.

  Barrett groaned and pulled it out.

  “What’s up?”

  “Hey! What’re you up to tonight?!”

  Barrett blinked. “What do you mean? I just saw you fifteen minutes ago. I’m going home to shower, eat, and crash.”

  The man on the other end burst out laughing.

  “It’s Friday night! What are you, a nun?!”

  Barrett said nothing.

  Tony was baiting him.

  And Barrett was way too tired for games.

  A moment passed.

  Then Tony’s voice came back, louder, more enthusiastic.

  “Come on! Let’s go out tonight and get into some trouble!”

  “Tony,” Barrett sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, “I gotta rest, man.”

  “You’re a young kid!” Tony barked. “You shouldn’t be home resting. That’s old man behavior!”

  “This isn’t a joke,” Barrett replied quietly. “We’re putting our lives on the line for this. We need every advantage we can get.”

  Tony snorted.

  “What life? You don’t even have a life to put on the line.”

  The line went silent.

  Barrett lowered the phone and hung up.

  He kept walking.

  He pictured getting home.

  The shower.

  The warm meal.

  The glow of the television in the dark room.

  Scrolling through his phone, maybe playing a game until he passed out hours after he promised himself he’d go to bed.

  Around him, life was happening.

  Birthday dinners spilling laughter onto sidewalks.

  Coworkers gathering around patio tables with drinks raised high.

  Couples drifting through the warm night air like the world was theirs.

  Barrett walked through it all like a ghost.

  Damn.

  It’s like they’re living in a completely different world.

  Do they even think about muscles and fighting?

  Not for the first time, the thought crossed his mind.

  Maybe he didn’t need to travel to another universe to experience a completely different reality.

  —Present—

  “Get back from him, Tiana!” a woman’s sharp voice cut through the air.

  “But mommy,” a smaller voice protested, “I think he’s hurt.”

  “Hurt or not,” the woman replied firmly, “that man looks dangerous.”

  A third voice joined them, younger than the mother but older than the little girl. “Just what we need, more dangerous men.”

  Barrett stirred faintly.

  Pain greeted him immediately. His entire body throbbed, a deep ache in his bones and muscles as if he’d been beaten with hammers. His clothes clung to him, soaked through with sweat, the fabric cold and heavy against his skin. Whatever poison had been in him was mostly burned out.

  “Tiana, step back!”

  More footsteps approached, heavier ones this time.

  “Is everyone alright?” an older man asked, his voice rough with age.

  “Took you long enough, Grandpa!” the older girl snapped.

  “Who’s he?” the old man asked, confusion threading through his tone. “One of Palamino’s men?”

  “No idea,” the mother replied. “We just found him here. Where the hell were you?”

  “I… ah… was doing some work,” the old man said with a weak laugh.

  “Liar,” the older girl shot back. “You look like you were sleeping!”

  “What’s that, Grandpa?” the younger girl asked suddenly.

  The old man’s tone brightened with sudden pride.

  “Your Pa’s sword!”

  Barrett forced himself more awake.

  KRAA!

  Grimm was nearby. He quickly summoned some vision through the bird’s eyes.

  Darkness greeted him. Night had fallen. The sky above was little more than a smear of black broken by faint stars.

  He couldn’t tell how much time had passed.

  The bird turned his head slightly. Shapes stood nearby with four silhouettes shifting in the dim light.

  “Yo,” he rasped weakly.

  They jumped back in unison.

  “Get back, demon!” the old man shouted. “Or I’ll cut yer head off!”

  He rushed forward, trying to place himself between Barrett and the others. The sword raised awkwardly in both hands.

  Then he tripped.

  The old man pitched forward, losing his footing entirely.

  The blade came down in a wild arc straight toward Barrett’s face.

  “Grandpa!”

  “Whaaa—?!”

  There was a sharp metallic sound.

  And then stunned silence.

  Barrett had caught the blade.

  Between his teeth.

  The steel trembled where it hung, his jaw clenched around the edge.

  “How did he do that?!” the older girl whispered.

  “Sooo cool!” the younger one called Tiana, breathed.

  Barrett reached up slowly, pried the sword loose from his mouth, and spat a small line of blood onto the rooftop beside him.

  His vision cleared enough for the shapes around him to sharpen into faces.

  Four of them.

  A middle-aged woman stood at the front, her posture tense and protective. Behind her were two girls—one barely a child, the other entering her teens.

  And the old man.

  All of them shared the same pale features: blue eyes, blond hair, though the grandfather’s had faded to a thin gray.

  None of them looked like fighters.

  Not even the old man.

  Barrett blinked slowly, his head still spinning.

  “What the hell…” he muttered hoarsely. “Where am I?”

  The old man recovered the sword with trembling hands, eyeing him warily while keeping the girls behind him.

  Fear lingered in the old man’s eyes.

  “You’ve landed on our inn’s roof,” he said cautiously.