The overhead light flickered for a moment then shut off completely as the bulb burst, sending pieces of glass all over the front stoop. The large metal door slowly edged open, showing a dark gap to walk through. He entered and immediately felt the pulping energy take over. It crawled into him, as if through open wounds. Which wasn't half wrong.

The steps that followed were heavy. Heavier than anything he'd experienced before. The weight on his shoulders. His legs. It felt like he was being pulled downwards. But it didn't stop him from moving completely, as something else was spurring him on. That itch. That tugging at his inner fears, demons. He felt overwhelmed, but ready.

The walk felt like forever. And each step like a thousand. Like he were in quicksand. A dark, gloomy, infinite cobweb like space. It stuck to him, and tugged at his inner resolve all the same. He felt enmeshed in it. As if it were becoming him. As if he were becoming it. And for a moment, he denied it. The shadow.

Then he arrived. Dropping to his knees, he reached out in front of him. He clawed and scratched. Anything to keep him going. He didn't want to be here so soon. At the finish line. In the dark, all alone. With this feeling taking him over. Then the flashing lights. They played to his senses. But not of sight. And again. And again. Flashes in the minds eye.

He kept reaching. Stretching his will. Fighting against it. He'd entered the den, but wasn't ready to leave so soon. Not now. Not yet. His hands, outstretched, finally grasped onto something. A hope. A dream. A moment of not fuckin' yet! It pulled him up. Back to his feet. Dragged him up by the shorts. He was back.

He hurried out of the shade, and heard the heavy door slam shut behind him. The lights came back on as he regained his footing. The crowd cheering was the first thing he remembered hearing as his focus returned. Anything before that, and after the punch that sent him to the canvas, nothingness. His lights were rung. On his ass. But not now. He was back!

You might one day hit the canvas. But it sure as fuck ain't over till it's over. It's dark, and hell is hot. But the fighting spirit, a hell of a lot hotter. Purgatory, Race Street. Where legends are made.