Chapter 2: March 23rd, 2351

“And here coming in is Mikael, the Blue Pounder ... Olsson!” an overhead announcer yelled from the speakers.

Over three months had passed. The human crowd lifted in an uproar. The arena had been set, and every seat had been filled. Numerous cameras and camera drones littered the sports dome. Mars had always seen its share of sports. This was no different. Even by the 24th century, it had evolved some, but the basics remained the same. The red and blue carpets lined both sides of the entrances. The words “UWAF Arena 50th Anniversary” logo had already been neatly woven into the fabric as a man stepped past the doors. A set of fireworks erupted, combined with a set of neon blue and red lights. Music even engaged combined with heavy grunge guitars and future dubstep mixed together.

Mikael was a bruiser in his own right. He had a pale complexion, short-cut brown hair, red and blue shorts, and muscles that protruded from his arms and bare chest. Most likely, he was a man born in former Sweden. A small scarf with a gold crest was worn around his shoulders that glimmered from the faint spotlight hovering over him. The moment that Mikael came out, the audience cheered the name: “Olsson! Olsson! Olsson!”

“RAH!” Mikael roared as his gloved fists were in the air. Then, he triumphantly marched down the carpet to the center floor.

“Looks like the grand champion is ready to reclaim his standing,” one of the male announcers said. There was a hint of a dainty voice, having a hint of a Chinese accent mixed into it.

“Don’t count your bets on him, Chen,” another announcer said. “Olsson has his hands full this year, and we know it.”

“Well, this year has been something. I have a feeling that Olsson is going to win this one. Everyone always thinks that his arms do the talking, but those feet, woof! It gets everyone, every time.”

The center arena consisted of a basic thin metal fence. It was elevated, but the seats were set in a concave pattern to allow as many viewers to see it as possible. The same emblem of the UWAF was written on the white center floor. Various tables and chairs lined the fence’s edge. This allowed the coaches, referees, and medical staff to be on standby if need be. In one area of the theater was a small room. It was heavily lit and consisted of two seats. This was the announcers’ room where the two men that were placating the events resided. One of them was of Chinese descent with red and black hair and wore a red uniform. The other individual had long black hair that ran down one side of his face. He had a pale complexion, almost as if he were descended from the former United States. He had a big goatee on his chin, and his attire was glamorous, consisting of white and gold that flowed down one side of his body. Even his voice almost sounded familiar.

“Oh, and here comes our new possible grand champion,” the goateed announcer said. “Ladies and gentlemen, we bring you ‘Bransen, the chef, Hart!’”

On the other side of where Mikael stepped out, entered a lone individual. This man had the facial features of a person also born in the former United States. He had a pale complexion, short black hair, and wore similar red and blue shorts. He seemed less belligerent than Mikael but remained stoic. As he stepped forward, he held his right hand out in triumph. However, there appeared to be less energy in what he was doing when compared to Mikael. The crowd, while cheering for him, was far less. There was also the combination of some booing from the audience.

“Bransen certainly holds some controversy in making it this far,” the goateed announcer said.

“Yeah, that’s what happens when you let a man that hurt his spouse onto the arena,” Chen said.

“Oof, below the belt, Chen. Let me remind you that he was found not guilty on all those charges. Bransen has had a long history of working his way to the top. Turning his chopping arm into a power fist. I guess all that cooking had to go somewhere. Maybe it was what he was eating. I don’t know, but this man lies in the final round.”

“Right so, Hudson,” Chen replied. “Regardless of what I think of the man, he has certainly surprised me. Defeating Travis, the Bruiser, was a close call, but he managed to deliver the final blow straight to the man’s chin. Knocked him out clean cold that sent Oshun screaming into the next decade.”

Bransen could hear the announcements that went on as he approached the center arena. By now, this had become routine. He made it this far. Win or lose. It didn’t matter. The only issue that remained was the very fact that regardless of what he did, the audience still seemed to frown upon him. He wished that they had stopped bringing that topic up. It was as if one of the announcers was gunning for him, denouncing him at every turn. It was a stain that never ceased. Perhaps winning would silence the critics for good.

“Bransen!” a man came up from behind him. “The last round of the UWAF. You ready, kid?”

The lone fighter turned his head to see the short man approach him. This individual had the facial features of a man born in former Japan. He appeared partly old, being in his later 60s, but he always had a smile on his face. A hint of gray hair could be seen from the top of his short hair. He wore a red and blue sweater and sweatpants. There was a hint of a former Japanese accent that could be heard in his voice.

“Coach Saburo,” Bransen replied with a smile. The hint of the Martian accent could be heard in his voice.

“Is that all you have to say? Your last round, and you get to become champion!”

“I know, but ... Travis was fifth in line to the seat in the prior championships. I’m taking on the former Grand Champion.”

“You’ll do great, kid. Remember everything that I taught you.”

“Yeah, but this is Mikael. He won 1st place two times in a row.”

“You just give him the good ol punch, dive, push, and power slam that you always do. Just make sure that you avoid that man’s feet. Remember what I told you...”

“Ugh...,” Bransen grunted as he reached the steps of the gate. It slipped open. Before he went in, he turned his head to look at his coach.

“Remember ... this is only the beginning,” Saburo pointed at him with a determined smile. “After this is the Gelta Tournament. The best of the best will go, and that person is you. I know you can do it!”

His coach gave a gentle pat on Bransen’s shoulder. He sat down by the nearby table so he could have a good view of the arena floor. Within moments, both Bransen and Mikael stepped through the gates and onto the main floor.

“Looks like the two champions are stepping in,” Hudson, the announcer, explained. “This is it! The final fight of the UWAF of 2351.”

“How is the packing going?” Chen asked.

“More than ready, Chen. I can’t wait to go to the Gelta tournament. Get a chance to see the Itreans fight and, along with our future champion to go with it. I haven’t been this excited since I served as announcer for the UWALVR races last year.”

“Well, you can happily count me out, Hudson. Sounds like they couldn’t ignore your tenacity to get overzealous when the competition gets really heated.”

“I’m sure that they have some nice announcer that I will get to work with. I don’t think I’ll miss out on your savage charm, at least not until next year.”

“I’ll make sure to keep your seat warm. Just make sure that they don’t make a hit on you.”

Bransen began to flush out the announcers’ constant banter. Instead, he was face-to-face with Olsson. The blue pounder was no laughing matter. He was a foot taller than him. There was a hint of blue spectacles from the exposed feet of the former grand champion. These ligaments were obviously augmented feet. Even now, Mikael would slap his naked feet onto the deck as if he was driving a point into Bransen.

The cheering of the audience was picking up. A lone female referee approached the two and held her hands up to block both of them from coming any closer. Even the distant music was closing down. The camera drones hovered over the fighters’ heads.

“Alright,” the referee told the two in a thick Martian accent. “You know the rules. You’re knocked out for more than ten seconds or go past the fence. You’re out.”

“I’m ready to stomp this wife beater to the fucking deck!” Mikael taunted him. “Maybe break a few bones so that he can never cook again. After that,” the man stuck his tongue in a perverted manner. “All those Itrean ladies will be mine!”

Bransen had to ignore the infuriating comment. Instead, he remained focused. Was it possible that Olsson was so overconfident that he didn’t bother to study his own opponent? The grand champion did have some obvious weaknesses. However, he was so overconfident that he could win that he dismissed his own coach for the entire year. Even then, the grand champion still worked his way to the top without any help. However, with Bransen, he knew that he had Saburo to help him.

“Olsson,” Bransen said to him almost calmly. “I’m only serving one person tonight, and that’s going to be you.”

“Ha! Funny line from the former chef!” the former champion mocked as he lightly slammed two fists near his gut. “Wait until I wipe your face on the deck with my bare hands.”

The music almost died down. The lights began to flash and glow over the center arena more and more. The audience was roaring in anticipation. This was it. Bransen’s heart was pounding. Every fight, every battle, came down to this moment. Against all odds, he managed to win the contests that were presented against him. Past this point, he would be declared the United Worlds’ Alliance Fighting Grand Champion. However, Olsson stood in the way of that process. He wasn’t going to give it up easily.

“The tension is in the air, Chen,” Hudson said.

“I can feel it, too,” Chen replied.

“Fight!” The referee yelled from the top of her lungs. She scurried away quickly towards the edge of the fence to give the maximum amount of space possible. The music picked up a little bit in volume, but it was mere background noise. Both of the fighters stood, staring at one another. Neither threw a fist at the other.

“What’s wrong, chef?” Olsson said to him. “Afraid to throw the first fist at me?”

“You first,” Bransen replied.

The man smiled back at him. “I’m giving you a good clear shot. Fucking hit me!”

“Never turn on your oven until you’re ready to cook, Olsson.”

“Huh?” The man gave a questioning look at him as he readied to charge at him.

“First safety tip of the day.”

Everything came to a standstill. Bransen had to calculate the next series of moves. Olsson’s right foot stammered forward. His other leg pushed back. A hint of a blue glow erupted from his bare feet. Bransen knew that the man was using his augmented feet to propel him to impressive speeds. The combination of his strength and speed was his greatest asset. However, Bransen knew it was coming. He darted to the left and swung his left fist.

At that exact moment, Olsson jolted forward at a blazing speed. His right fist was aimed directly at Bransen’s face, but the sudden dodge meant that he would miss. However, the left fist connected and smacked the edge of the right fist, heading toward him. It misdirected Bransen’s fist away from Olsson’s face.

“Oh, the Blue Pounder Special!” Hudson commented to the audience. “That usually gets a few of them in the first hit. Bransen just got out of the way in time.”

Mikael’s leap pushed him past Bransen. However, he also knew that Olsson would make his next move. His feet slammed and gripped the cushioned floor. They were glowing more now. It halted his body as he swung around. His body spun in place, almost like he was standing on a swivel. His right leg went straight towards Bransen as he spun around.

Within a split second, Olsson’s foot connected to Bransen. However, Bransen’s right arm was held up. It also briefly glowed blue, stopping the full energy impact of Olsson’s powerful kick. Deflected, Olsson regained his footing and backed up. A hint of laughter could be seen on the man’s face.

“Stopped the Blue Pounder Special?” Olsson chuckled. “Well ... well ... well. Looks like somebody has an augmented arm.”

“Augmented feet. Makes no difference,” Bransen replied. “Out of all the things, you got augmented.”

“Many good things come from your feet. A chef like you would know otherwise.”

Mikael Olsson. Bransen did know about this man. The former grand champion had an interesting history to him. He was born in Cebravis, where his family lived the simple life growing Cebravin blueberries imported from the saved seeds of former Earth. They eventually expanded their business to becoming juicers, making blueberry juice. Embracing the simple life with little technology to assist them, the family made juice the old-fashioned way: by physically stomping the tiny fruits into liquid. Olsson took his job seriously to the point that he eventually had augmented feet installed so he could optimize how the blueberries would be crushed beneath his feet. The Blue Pounder had been born. The “Juicer Feet” became his rallying cry when he ultimately wanted to go into a career as a UWAF champion. It worked as he had enormous control over how he moved and how he delivered the decisive blows from his feet and legs.

However, Bransen knew all of this. Delivering a kick as powerful as he could only be mitigated by something as equally impressive as Olsson’s augmented feet. He had to use that to his advantage. If Olsson continued to fight, he would adjust his own tactics to match his, possibly leading to the defeat of Bransen. He now had to take the fight to him.

Launching his foot forward, Olsson could see the incoming charge. He pulled his arms up and prepared to launch two blows at the man. In a split second, Bransen could map out the entire move set. It was the Blue Pounder Special. This would consist of two jabs, followed by a push, leap, and spin kick to the face. At this point, the former grand champion knew that if he didn’t press his assault, Bransen could use his abilities to his advantage. However, Bransen knew that he was getting desperate.

“ARGH!” Olsson roared as he did his two quick jabs. Despite countering one of the blows, the left jab smacked Bransen’s jaw, partially dazing him. He felt the push and knew that he was about to do it.

The leap was made. With Martian gravity, it was easier for humans to leap into the air, much better than other worlds. Olsson was high in the air. His entire body was off the ground. It would be an all-or-nothing move. He contorted in the air, his knee pointed to the ground, and a glowing left foot heading straight down to Bransen’s face.

“NRGH!” Bransen yelled out as he knew that the foot and leg were coming. Despite being partially dazed, his right arm glowed blue. He swung it to the right, deflecting the kick enough that Olsson’s body was sent crashing down toward him. Then, Bransen used his left arm to deliver a blow straight into Olsson’s face.

“Oh! Nice move!” Hudson yelled out. “Perfect counter to the Blue Pounder Special.”

“Honestly, didn’t see that coming, Hudson,” Chen replied. “Looks like Bransen is taking full advantage of this and coming out swinging.”

Bransen launched himself forward. He swung with a right jab, a left jab, a near right hook, and a hard left hook straight to the face. Blow after blow was delivered. Olsson was taking a beating, but the former king wouldn’t relinquish his throne so quickly.

The audience was cheering at the fight. It was short, but this fight had to be won. One mighty fortress against one mighty fortress. One was going to win. Olsson felt the hits, anchored his left foot to the deck, and used his right knee to punch Bransen into the gut. It wasn’t powerful, but just enough to halt the advanced set of blows. Bransen was shoved back. There was a momentary pause as the two stared at each other.