BMMA: Bestial Mix Martial Arts

Darius jolted awake, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding as his hands fumbled at his waist, clawing for a sidearm that wasn't there. A broken shout tore from his throat:

"Kael!" In his mind, the image was raw and brutal: a tiger Feral, fully transformed and savage, lunging at his friend.

Kael, already bloodied from the war, gripped the beast's throat with both hands, its jaws inches from his face. Darius scrambled at his belt, but there was nothing—just air between his fingers.

Then his eyes snapped open, and he was in his bedroom, wrapped in heavy silence.

Kael had been dead for over 40 years… and the war was long won.

Yet those damn creatures still stalked his nightmares, as real as the sweat soaking his shirt.

With a frustrated growl, Darius reached for the nightstand, grabbed a pill, and hauled himself up.

'Another shitty dream…' he thought, pouring himself a cup of cold coffee from the pot he'd forgotten since morning.

He shuffled to the lounge, his eyes locked on the photo of Kael on the mantle: young, grinning, clutching his first MMA belt like the world still made sense.

He took a swig of coffee and grimaced; its bitterness did little to loosen the knot in his chest. With a rough yank, he opened a drawer, pulled out a bottle of fancy rum—saved for "special days," whatever the hell that meant anymore—and popped the cap.

The sweet, heady scent hit him as he poured a generous splash into his mug.

He picked up Kael's photo and the military medal always beside it, the metal cold and rough under his fingers. Sinking into a chair, he stared at them with a mix of nostalgia and exhaustion.

"What's up, buddy?" he muttered, sipping the rum-laced coffee. "Sorry I'm not visiting today… Your kid's got me run ragged. Stubborn as you ever were."

A dry chuckle escaped him, quickening as he drank faster than he should.

"Can you believe it? A Feral! The little punk's gone soft for a damn Feral."

The laugh carried a sarcastic edge, but the rum burned his throat, steadying the tremor in his hands.

"Whatever… If that thing brings in cash, fine. And if it goes wild, well, I'll just put down another one of those monsters, right?" He raised his mug in a mocking toast to the photo, though the gesture felt hollow.

Then anger surged like a wave.

"Time's screwed us over, Kael! These kids don't know shit about what we went through… what those beasts took from us." His voice cracked, his face flushed from the booze and memories.

He saw Kael and the others again: broken bodies, blood everywhere, throats torn open.

'Savages,' he thought, grinding his teeth until they ached. He shook his head to banish the images, but they clung like cobwebs.

"And the worst part? That Feral's as bullheaded as your boy. These kids are driving me up the wall." He downed the rest of the mug, the liquid searing its way to his gut.

But then something stopped him cold. Kai and Lyra. Both were kids.

"Lyra…" he said softly, surprised to hear her name slip out for the first time. "She wasn't even born when everything went to hell…"

He buried his face in his hands, frustrated. 'What the hell am I doing?' he thought, defeated.

Standing, he slipped the medal into his pocket and stared out the window, trying to sort through the mess in his head.

<><><>

Lyra walked beside Kai through the crowded streets, the city's noise buzzing in her ears. For the first time in ages, she hadn't bothered hiding her pointed ears or foxlike tail. Living with Kai had made her drop her guard, forgetting what it was like to constantly conceal herself.

But now, in public, the scornful stares stabbed at her like pins, reminding her who—or what—she was.

'Great, back to being the freak show,' she thought, as people sidestepped her or muttered under their breath.

What churned her stomach most was knowing no one dared say a word because she was with a human.

If she were alone, they'd be yelling "monster" or chucking something at her. Kai's protection was both a relief and a slap to her pride.

"You okay?" Kai asked, glancing at her with that calm that sometimes drove her nuts.

"Oh, yeah, loving the spotlight," Lyra shot back, sarcasm dripping as she tugged her hood lower. But it was pointless; her tail still poked out, twitching like it had a mind of its own.

Distracted by an old lady staring like Lyra might steal her soul, she tripped over a crack in the sidewalk and nearly face-planted. She caught herself at the last second, grabbing Kai's outstretched hand.

"Careful, we don't want you busted up before the fight," he said with a teasing grin.

Lyra straightened, cheeks burning.

"Yeah, yeah, real funny. As if these jerks staring isn't enough." She shook off his hand, though a half-smile slipped through. Somehow, Kai could make her laugh even when she wanted to claw someone's eyes out.

"Ignore them," he said, shrugging. "We're almost there."

Minutes later, the BMMA building loomed ahead, imposing. Posters of past fights plastered the walls, names of famous fighters in bold, shiny letters. Lyra's stomach knotted.

'This is really happening,' she thought, swallowing hard.

They approached the registration desk, where a middle-aged woman greeted them with a quick glance at Lyra that said more than words could.

"Name?" she asked curtly.

"Lyra," she replied, standing taller to sound braver than she felt.

"Species."

"Fox Feral."

The woman raised an eyebrow, sizing her up before scribbling on her sheet.

"Your fight's Friday. Sign here." She slid the paper over. "You can back out before Thursday. Wouldn't be the first time a weak species got cocky and bailed last minute," she added with a mocking smirk.

Lyra glared, snatching the pen and signing so fast she nearly tore the paper. She wasn't wasting time arguing—every minute here was a minute not training.

Her fight was set for Friday. Just a few days to prepare.

Kai clapped her shoulder, his voice cutting through the tension.

"You're gonna crush it. Just wait."

Lyra nodded, doubt still gnawing at her, but there was no turning back. The fight was locked in, and she was ready to face it.