asconian's blog

Downtown Madrid. Ricardo was a man used to making tough decisions. He wasn’t just some millionaire surrounded by luxuries; his life was full of risks, of enemies in the shadows, of dangers lurking from the darkest corners of the world. He needed the best to protect him. Not just thugs with inflated muscles, but true warriors, men who knew what it was to survive on the edge of the abyss. 

Four candidates appeared before him. Four men who claimed to be the strongest, the most lethal. But after a rigorous selection process, only two remained: Paco and Ramiro. He observed them closely. They were imposing, the kind of people who, even without moving, transmit danger. Both around thirty years old, roughly the same age as Ricardo. Paco, with his square jaw and scars from old battles, had the gaze of a patient predator, someone who had already seen hell and come back. 

Ramiro, taller and with muscles sculpted by combat, radiated confidence; the assurance of someone who knew he had rarely been defeated. Ricardo crossed his arms and delivered his verdict with the coldness of someone about to unleash a hurricane:

 “I only need one. I want the best. And the only way to prove it… is for one of you to take down the other.” 

Silence fell. A heavy silence. Dense. Only the distant sound of city traffic broke the tension that had settled in the office. The two men stood motionless, as if measuring each other, as if their minds were already fighting before their bodies moved. And then, chaos erupted. Paco attacked first. His right fist cut through the air like a hammer and struck Ramiro in the face. A dry, brutal impact. Ramiro staggered for an instant, but immediately responded with an elbow to Paco’s side, drawing a grunt of pain. 

The fight became a storm.

 Punches. Kicks. Knee strikes. Shoves. The blows crashed into their bodies like thunder in a storm. Each impact was a roar of strength, a clash of titans that made the furniture creak and the walls of the office rumble. They rolled across the floor, grappling like two beasts in a fight for survival. Paco tried a chokehold. Ramiro blocked it and returned the favor with a knee to the abdomen. Paco coughed, but with a grunt, he hurled him against a bookshelf, which cracked under the weight of the blow. Time ceased to exist. Only instinct remained. Breathless. Stopped for a while. Slowly they went shirtless. 

Two sweating alphas. Looking to each other with hate. Paco and Ramiro crashed into each other with the force of two heavyweight fighters who had been waiting their entire lives for this moment. Paco punched. Ramiro ducked beneath the punch and drove his shoulder into Paco’s chest, sending both men staggering backward. Paco recovered instantly and grabbed Ramiro by the back of the neck, pulling him into a brutal headbutt. Ramiro stumbled. Paco followed with a vicious hook. Ramiro took the punch, staggered sideways, then came back with a crushing elbow that smashed into Paco’s jaw. Paco’s head snapped back. For half a second, neither moved. Then they attacked each other again. 

There was no elegance now.

 No hesitation. 

No restraint. 

Only raw violence. 

Paco grabbed Ramiro by the shirt and slammed him against the wall. Ramiro answered by driving a knee deep into Paco’s stomach. Paco doubled over, gasping, but Ramiro didn’t give him time to recover. He seized him around the waist and threw him across the room. Paco crashed into a heavy table. The table splintered beneath him. Ricardo remained completely still. Paco slowly pushed himself to his feet. Ramiro charged. Paco met him halfway. Their bodies collided with a violent impact. They locked arms, each trying to overpower the other. Their muscles strained as they fought for position, pushing, twisting, and wrestling for control. Ramiro managed to get behind Paco and wrapped an arm around his neck. Paco immediately fought back. He grabbed Ramiro’s forearm with both hands and pulled desperately, trying to break the hold. Ramiro squeezed tighter. Paco’s face reddened. 

Then Paco drove his elbow backward. Once. Twice. Ramiro loosened his grip. Paco turned and smashed his fist into Ramiro’s ribs. Ramiro grunted. Paco hit him again. Ramiro answered with a punch to the face. Paco staggered. Ramiro grabbed him. Paco grabbed him back. And suddenly they were trading blows at point-blank range. Punches slammed into bodies. Elbows crashed against shoulders. Knees drove into thighs and stomachs. Neither man backed away. They were too close to retreat. Too exhausted to think. Too determined to surrender. Paco landed a devastating right hand. Ramiro’s head snapped to the side. Before Paco could strike again, Ramiro grabbed him and drove him backward. The two men crashed through a chair.

 They hit the floor together. Ramiro ended up on top. He threw a punch. Paco blocked it. Paco suddenly twisted his body, reversed their positions, and drove Ramiro’s shoulders into the floor. The two men collided again. This time, they simply stood there, locked together, their foreheads pressed against each other. Both were breathing heavily. Both were bleeding. Both were exhausted. But neither was willing to let go. 

Ramiro whispered through clenched teeth. 

“You’re going down.” Paco stared straight into his eyes.

 “Not before you.” 

It was almost an hour since they came up to blows.

They started swinging again. The fight became a brutal exchange of punishment. Paco’s fist smashed into Ramiro’s cheek. Ramiro answered with an elbow. Paco drove a knee into his stomach. Ramiro grabbed him and threw him into the wall. Another punch. Another. Another. The two men were no longer fighting for victory. They were fighting simply to remain standing. Sweat slid down their foreheads. Their breaths were deep gasps. Their skin was marked by red blows and budding bruises. And then, it happened. Both fell to their knees, exhausted. They bled from their noses, lips, and cheekbones. But they didn’t stop. To death. From that position, face to face, they began to strike each other alternately. 

A punch from Paco. Ramiro’s head turned, but he looked back at him, defiant. 

A punch from Ramiro. Paco grunted in pain, but clenched his teeth and returned the blow. They continued like that. 

One. 

Another. 

Blow after blow. 

Breath after breath. Until one fell. 

Ramiro. He collapsed to one side, his arms trembling, unable to get up. It wasn’t a knockout blow. It was the body’s surrender, absolute exhaustion.  Paco, staggering, still on his knees, lifted his head. He looked, also destroyed at Ricardo with eyes reddened by fury and effort. He was still standing. Though he fell again. Either could have won. Ricardo smiled. He had found his man. Ricardo, check that Ramiro is okay. 

He regains consciousness and ashamed says 

“I’m sorry, sir. You’re not taking the best man.” 

He put a hand on his shoulder. I’m sure you could have won. Pleased, he leaves, and the two colossi look at each other with hatred. Let’s go, Paco. First, get you to the emergency room, then come with me to dinner. 

You’ve earned it. “I won’t let you down, sir.”

 “First, drop the ‘sir.’ I need a friend too.” 

Paco remains silent, Ramiro promised Paco will pay for it….