Fighters

Lucien

He was old. That was the thought Lucien had as he swung his arm and felt it connect with his opponent’s jaw but harmlessly.

Denizen the Destroyer had been like a power-packed tank from the word go. He had been beating Lucien thoroughly, thrashing him at every angle. And Lucien knew that for every one punch he managed to make, The Destroyer would come back – with two. He was a young man, not yet twenty-five years old, and his speed was lethal. The force of his punches was also fierce but Lucien had begun well. He had smashed Denizon's nose once, given him a cut above his eye and made the man bleed.

Gradually, he had begun to tire. Dimly, he was aware of the crowd roaring, he could see Schwartz's white face as his friend stood close to the ropes, anxiety on his handsome features, his hands on his hips, scowling. Catalina was moving at the periphery of his vision in her absurd costume, screeching, urging him to fight.

His opponent was huge, packed with muscle. For a fleeting momen