The fight club was only half full which was odd for a weekend. This time of night it should be bristling with the political elite and well-to-do looking to slake a thirst for blood that was ill tolerated under the clear light of day. But this place held only the faint incandescent light of a hole in the wall built not so much for showing, but hiding.

Hiding the grime and filth that built up where men put flesh against flesh in a struggle not just to win, but to survive. Hiding the remains of illicit trysts with the waitresses and call girls kept to spice up the night for those too important, too wealthy, or just too cowardly to test themselves. Hiding the blood, sweat, and tears of those who broke on the shore of the concrete ring in the center spotlight.

And tonight, it was doing one more trick and trying to hide history.

Which was the very reason that only a handful of the best that the Durden family had to offer were present and watching with voracious glee as two men stood across from one another. The first was a scrappy little bastard who was probably never destined for anything above middle management, even in an operation as roughshod as this one. He was all of about 150 pounds, five feet eight inches, and greasy from top to bottom. Judging by his expression, a few shots to the face might actually improve his looks. By contrast to the man standing across he was an absolute looker though.

His opponent was a big man, though his body showed signs of once being even larger. At six feet one inch and 175 pounds he looked for all the world like a giant looming against his foe. His black, curly hair thinned at the front and showed the beginnings of a nasty scar that ran across his forehead like a jigsaw puzzle that was hurriedly assembled and glued in place by a child's hand. Two more jagged patches crossed the middle of his torso and almost obscured the thin line at his left side that seemed to imply a cleaner stitching of yet another injury. In spite of all the old punishment, or perhaps because he had faced so much that fear was a long forgotten foe, the man seemed as solid as a tree.

A third figure walked between the two trunks-clad men who looked like he was built to take both of them at once and not break a sweat. With each clack of shoes on concrete he drove a hammer through any sound that was coming from the small group assembled to witness what was next. A reverent calm settled over the arena as his voice rose.

"Alright you fucking miscreants, we're here for one reason and one reason alone. Pitting fighter against fighter in the only thing that matters in this miserable city. Blood. Pain. Death. Triumph. And in doing so we will find that we are truly alive. We are awake and free like nobody else in this god-forsaken world will ever be because we let ourselves go and be exactly what we are with no fucking veils and pretenses."

He paused and let the crowd get revved back up again, filling the space with the the roars of men ready to spill blood and let blood be spilled. By the end of the night several more of those men would probably lie in a heap on this very same floor and it would be marvelous.

"One of these crazy bastards wants to make something of themselves. He wants to wake up from the half-assed, meaningless pile of shit he's been and BE something. He's willing to put everything on the line to see that happen."

He paused again to gesture at the smaller man who raised his arms gave a roared that he must have thought was impressive. Poor guy couldn't even figure out when he was being set up. The crowd ate it up though and seemed like they were ready to hop the barricades between them and ring. It was glory.

"The other son of a bitch owes a debt to this family. He owes a debt to this ring. He owes a debt to ME. And today we find out if he is ready to pay it back and wake up from the haze he's been sitting in since we pulled his ass out of the river. He may as well have been dead and now he wants to live!"

The men in the crowd were positively in a frenzy now, some jeering and taunting the big man even though they were no better not long ago. There wasn't a man in the room that he hadn't hauled out of the monotonous slow death of the world around them which was just as bad as the bleeding mess he'd found that poor bastard in. Add to that that the big man was worth any five of them if only for the delicious suffering he had the potential to bring. The look on that smug bitch's face would be the kind of pleasure that only came along once in a lifetime. But that was later. Maybe never unless he delivered tonight.

"So let's see which one of these two sorry supplicants can take what they want and which one should have the MERCY of being put down!"

The room's leader stepped back from the ring and raised his fists in salute to the fighter's with a merciless laugh that sounded like barely restrained mania before shouting once more and punching his clenched hands through the air as if at an unseen foe.

"FIGHT!"

It felt like every part of his body was tensed to the point of breaking, but the big man was ready. He'd been working toward this for years and forcing strength back into this broken body until he could stand. Then he could walk. Then run. Work. Now maybe even fight. The boss had poured more money and time into him than any other man he'd seen since he got here and now he could show that it was all worth it. Maybe it would even finally shut up that fat prick that always stood alongside him when business went down. Someday Paulson would be the one across from him and he'd enjoy every moment of it. Not today though. Today he had another target.

When the boss gave the word he moved forward as quickly as his feet would take him, almost feeling like the shouts of the men in the crowd were carrying him as much as his own bone and muscle. Even the blurring at the edges of his vision didn't dim his focus today, they just focused his energy into one place. The face of the little guy across from him.

His first punch landed with a satisfying thud, jolting the poor little guy's head back like he'd been hit by an anvil. The jolt stung every bit as much as he expected, but the rush he felt more than made up for it. His heart was pumping a thousand miles an hour and life seemed to pulse through every inch of his body, even the patchwork sections of numbness that taunted and tormented his days and nights. It was just like the boss had said it would be. He felt alive in a way that nothing else had made him feel since he'd woken up in a hospital bed so long ago. This was where he belonged and what he was supposed to be doing.

The little guy was quick though and he took a step back into a half crouch as his head snapped back from the hit. Before the change could process, the man drove a fist up under the bigger one's jaw and rattled him. His punch had much less weight behind it, but nevertheless the bigger man stumbled as if he'd been knocked half senseless.

The blow left the world spinning around him and suddenly the energy he'd been reveling in pooled in his forehead and grew into an immense aching. He'd been slow, just like in all his other exercises and it had bit him in the ass. As he stumbled back, the little man pressed the new found advantage, swinging punch after punch into his body and driving him back with each hit. In the midst of the stings there would occasionally be a bright flash of light as the hits found the scars of old injuries and drove a deeper pain through him that nearly took him off his feet. The blows kept raining down on him even as he tried to raise his arms and block the pain long enough to get his wits about him again.

Then came an elbow that pushed aside his incoherent blocks and drove into the side of his head.

The big man dropped to the floor followed closely by his enemy who was riding a high from how quickly he was taking apart his enemy. He straddled the fallen form and kept the flurry of punishment proceeding with increased vigor even as the room exploded with cheers and shouts of hunger for the slaughter that seemed to be starting in earnest.

The only thing that the big man could think was that he'd wasted his one chance. All the time and money and fighting to get back on his feet and reach this day was going to be useless and he'd die on the floor as nothing. He could only think one thing, punctuated by bone and meat slamming into him over and over: "IT'S. ALL. MY. FAULT."

Then in one of the flashes of pain, instead of the cold white emptiness he'd seen every other time, he saw a figure that made his heart leap. In a mournful, angry voice the figure shouted back the very words that had entered his mind and he burned with a need to prove them wrong. He had to protect that shining form from the guilt they carried, because he was almost certain that the figure was nothing less than an Angel.

----

Across the room the boss was scowling and shaking his head in disappointment. This wasn't how he'd seen this going down at all and he just wanted to punch someone until he felt wet concrete under his fists. Maybe he would in the next round.

The fat bastard at his side shifted uncomfortably and cleared his throat.

"Boss, should we stop the fight? I thought you wanted to keep him safe? I mean, it looks like he's going to get himself killed and-"

Tyler turned and looked at his left hand with murder in his eyes enough to silence him. Paulson knew that no one was irreplaceable here.

"If he can't handle this by now then he's not worth another minute. He's just One-and-done all over again."

----

Blood painted the gloves of the man about to rise from obscurity on the street. The battle scarred behemoth he'd been put up against was crumbling underneath him and he could see fame and fortune gliding into reach with each new impact and splash of color. His dreams were finally coming true and not a god damn thing could stop it. He was a god on the rise and the world would be his.

Or so he thought.

The big man suddenly thrashed like he'd been possessed and flailed out through the haze of blood. Half the blows were wide and deflected harmlessly off the smaller man's arms and shoulders, but the ones that landed were driven with the strength of a dump truck. In the midst of it, the big man began to twist and throw the smaller off the top of him, sending the near-victor to the concrete with an audible slap of flesh. Inarticulate shouts and grunts issued forth from the bloodied beast of a man who, now unburdened by the weight of his foe, rose from the floor.

The tables had turned, and where the small man had torn angry gashes open on his larger opponent in small increments, the big man was damn near crushing his victim. He didn't have the speed of the smaller competitor, and indeed he felt as though he was moving through water with each swing, but each landed with force enough to snap bones and judging by the victim's shouts they were doing just that.

The fight only continued on for a few moments longer before the small man lunged one final time in an attempt to reclaim his victory, landing another hard hit to the big man. This time though, the pain didn't penetrate the haze of determination that held the scarred fighter up and he responded with a blow that started in his hips and struck the little man's jaw hard enough that his head bounced off the concrete with a wet thud before all movement ceased.

The big man shouted once more at the prone figure before him before looking up at the lights that shone on the ring and smiling.

It wasn't anybody's fault. He'd won. The Angel could rest easy.

----

It wasn't often that Tyler Durden was left speechless but this was one of them. For a second there, it was almost he was looking at the pictures in the paper so many years ago and not a patchwork recreation. The bastard had come back from the brink in stunning form and by the looks of it had probably outright killed the little upstart under him. Not that it was a loss.

"Paulson, get a doctor before that idiot bleeds out all over my ring."

"I thought you wanted Gary to die?"

"Not him you fat fuck! For the other one! And when the doc has him patched up, bring Will up to me. I think it's time we put him to use."

It hadn't been until a set of firm hands latched onto Will's shoulders that he realized he was still sitting on top of the bloody mess that used to be his opponent. He'd been so lost in his thoughts about the Angel he'd seen in the midst of the fight that he'd forgotten where he was and what he was doing. For the first moment panic had risen at the touch and he began to pull away, his mind telling him he must still be strapped to the hospital bed, waiting for the excruciating fire to burn at every inch of his body as if he'd fallen into the deepest pits of hell. Even as he turned to face his assailant a soothing voice spoke to him and reassured him, putting the first drop of doubt into his fear.

Then the pinch of the blessed needle on his skin brought with it a familiar sense of euphoria that parted the clouds over his mind. He stopped twisting and pushing against the grip and felt his body sag with exhaustion that had been hiding in the shadow of his adrenaline. Aches and pains in his joints and his old scars gave way to the soft caress of the liquid worming its way through his veins. This was a friend he knew well over his years in the care of his boss and one that had caressed him to sleep more times than he could count.

It was a sweet little beauty named morphine.

The doctor's needle kissed him goodbye far sooner than he'd of liked and the hands started to pull him to his feet. Will followed grudgingly only to feel bites and pinpricks of pain try to punch through to him and fail against the padding given by the liquid love coursing through him. His steps were firm, but unsteady as the doctor led him to a bench and began the slow process of stitching up the wounds he'd sustained in his outing. Fortunately, many of the wounds were far less severe than they'd seemed at first glance. Most of the blood had been the result of damage to his face which had contributed more simply due to the nature of head wounds.

Once the work was done, the doctor took him by the shoulder again and guided him to a back room of the club. The muffled sounds of the club behind them, the doctor knocked on a door and told the voice on the other side their names. The door swung open to a cloud of smoke and the sweet scent of cigars and bourbon backing the rough, amused voice of the boss.

"You fucked up, Will."

The same thing he'd heard a thousand times over as long as he could remember, the thing that drove him to fight and prove himself each time. By now he knew that a lesson was coming next.

"You hesitated like a scared little kid and nearly let that punk kick your ass. If I didn't know you were going to get worked up sooner or later I would have had to break it up and that would have been a fucking embarrassment for both of us. You know how I feel about embarrassments."

Will stumbled into the room and wound his way to a stool across a table from the boss before the doctor let go and left the room. Now it was just him, the boss, and a couple of guys who were the sort that never talked. The sort that were very good at disposing of bodies.

"Yes boss. Embarrassments are a waste of breath. Theirs and yours."

Tyler, for his part, kept a stone faced stare at Will for a few seconds more before bursting into a fit of laughter. Apparently Will chose right.

"If you were twenty years younger I'd say you remind me of myself. You may be a fuck up, but you're at least one who listens. Right now, I got something real big I need you to listen to. You see, I've got a once in a lifetime opportunity to get you a crack at the person who left you to die. The one who back-stabbed you and dumped you in the river. But it'll only work if it's you."

Will sat up straighter, his focus pulled from the gauze wrapped around his senses. There were few things he dreamed about these days apart from ice cold waters wrapping around him and choking the air from his lungs and the fires of hell and damnation, but one thing that never quite left was the thought of getting revenge on whoever left him to rot. If the boss had a chance at that, it would be worth every last drop of blood and sweat he had left in him.

Tyler saw the change in him and chuckled, grabbing a cigar off the table and lighting it up.

"We make one phone call to set the trap and you, my friend, are gonna be a Dragon slayer."

The boss started the ball rolling with the call that day to his men in Philly. Once the right opening came along, Will would be given first crack at bringing down their mutual foe. The Dragon had been a thorn in Tyler's side for a lot of years, but even he had to admit that Will deserved a chance for what he'd been through.

From the moment he'd started to get his feet under him enough to ask what happened he'd been told by the boss about the Dragon. She was the sort of mobster that left a trail of bodies wherever she'd gone. Fire and torture were specialties of hers, mainly for the suffering they could inflict on the people who crossed her and that was a list that a man could get lost in. According to the boss, he'd been one of those people once upon a time and earned a one way ticket into the river where he'd almost met his maker, but things didn't go as planned. Will still couldn't recall what had happened or come before, but the evidence was written all over his body. He'd ended up like so many mafioso before him, only he'd been lucky enough to have someone find him. He owed everything he had to the people that had saved his life and he was damn sure going to make good on it.

First though, he'd have to hone his skills. He'd found his fighting spirit, but his movement was still subpar and that sure as hell wouldn't cut it. Not with the challenges he'd have to overcome to get to his target, not least of which was the Wolf. Where the Dragon would take all day killing a man she hated, the Wolf was efficient and quick. He was a true hunter and the sort that would be best avoided if at all possible. Unfortunately he was married to the Dragon which meant it was near impossible to get to her without going through him.

So Will trained in the art of blending in so he could start his fights on his own terms.  His size had made stealth a challenge, but in a city like Philadelphia a guy like him could look the part with any construction crew or bunch of dock workers around. He'd never be made for skulking in shadows but then again the shadows weren't the only way to put somebody in the dirt.

An attempt was made to teach him to handle a gun, but his eyes got in the way. The blurriness that plagued him made it hard to draw a bead on his target and it was a roll of the dice if he'd even land a bullet close to where he intended. Shotguns might be marginally better, but given his performance with a handgun even the boss seemed put off by the thought of him spraying pellets haphazardly. No, if he was going to bring down the big game he was after it would have to be something far more intimate.

When the training had moved to knives and brass knuckles, it was like a switch between night and day. Will wasn't sure how, but it seemed like his body knew something he didn't. He just felt right getting in close to an opponent and seemed to naturally find a rhythm that worked around his sparring partners and caught them off guard. His size had a habit of disguising his finesse and before long he was causing too many injuries to his sparring partners and had to switch to field practice.

The days turned to weeks, then months, then years and still the moment hadn't come. What had started off with a feeling like a kid waiting for Christmas had turned over the years into a sort of resentment building up. He'd been doing everything the boss had asked of him, and in spite of the lingering effects of his injuries he'd grown strong again. Enough so that he'd been put to use as a problem solver within the organization. He was able to perfect his craft by meeting with the men that were no longer needed, those who had turned their back on their family, and those who were simply too much trouble to keep around. But even as he became a bogeyman to Tyler's men he was never able to put the screws to the one person he'd thought about for so long. It was enough that he'd begun to doubt the boss and wonder if he'd be better served on his own.

But finally the call came. Tyler's men in Philadelphia had brought home news of war and death. The city was scrambling to deal with the aftermath and there was a chance for a guy to slip in under the radar. The families were stretched and new faces were on every train. Here was the moment they'd prepared for and waited so long to see. Even better, to put the cherry on top of the whole thing, was the news that the Dragon was soon to find herself looking at attaining a goal that was only a dream for most in the business. Revenge would be all the sweeter for the chance to pull all of that away even at the moment of her triumph. It took Will less than an hour to pack and ready himself for what came next.

The next plane out of Delaware would hold a surprise for South Philadelphia.