Thread: Dangels [Quin x heartless]

When he saw an opening, he took it. No hesitation and no mercy. Sweat bouncing off his bronze skin like sand fleas jumping to a new host, his muscles filled with tension, thick in his arms as he jabbed high and his blow connected. Leather covered knuckles snapped the other man's head back, the sound of defeat cracking loudly in the snap of bone, giving Dean the satisfaction of his victory even before his opponent's nose poured blood and the black man fell to his knees in the sandy arena. As per the rules of the Womb, the fight was over. The arena, also called the Womb by those who participated in the ritualized fights, was a large sandstone circle with layers of seats all around, above the walls that enclosed the hollow middle. Underground, the area was lit by windows along the top, letting in slanted pillars of light at ground level up above. This was where the different clans of the Mother engaged in combat, men pitting themselves against one another for the chance to bring new mothers into their midst. All women were mothers once they reached bleeding age, even virgins. Their sacred purpose, their divine power over life, bestowing this blessing upon those few men who were worthy to father the next generation. Mothers were the most valuable resource. More precious than water, which even in the worldwide desert the Earth had become, still fell from the sky and ran in channels and wells beneath the surface of the ground. As the crowd of onlookers erupted in growled hoots, Aah-whoo! Aah-whoo!, the mens' deep voices joining to sound like the chugging of a grand machine, Dean celebrated with them, hollering in triumph with muscled arms upraised. He'd taken a few massive hits himself, his bald head gleaming with a gushing wound on his crown where Mason shoved him head first into the stone wall of the arena. Nothing a few stitches and a night's rest wouldn't heal, however, it hadn't been an easy fight. Mason, leader of the Black Sun clan, was very powerful and wealthy, with many mothers and a ton of children. When he'd finished his victory dance, twirling in place and biting his lip as he groped himself through his pants, ending his signature move with a high-pitched hoot, Dean approached the still kneeling black man who held his nose woundedly. Won't be pretty, Dean said, flashing a gap-toothed grin at the other clan leader, offering him a friendly hand. But you'll live. Mason, who's coal black skin gleamed with sweat, looked up at him with eyes just as dark, the orbs surrounded by an almond of harsh white. I didn't mean to fall down, but fekking damn son! the man said with a shake of his head and obviously wounded pride. Still, when he released his nose with a grimace, he nodded and smiled at the other. Good fight. Good fight, Dean agreed, his blue eyes shining as he helped the man to his feet. The men shook hands amiably, keeping the peace in this sacred place and moving aside to make room for the next contenders and challengers to begin their own ritualized combat, albeit for a mother of lesser value. Dean didn't stay though, leaving Mason to tend to his broken nose with the medicists who were always standing by for the more serious wounds inevitably created within the ring. Walking the halls of the cool caverns, Dean Foster smirked proudly, a swagger to his step as he found his way to the betrothal halls to collect his prize. For the Womb was not only the place for the fights to be held but also contained the reason for the fights at all the unclaimed mothers.