Post by Tytus Rost on Nov 15, 2024 17:51:17 GMT
The late afternoon sun dipped low over Dallas, casting long shadows across the gleaming skyline. The towering skyscrapers shimmered in the golden hour, their reflective glass surfaces radiating warmth as the city's pulse quickened in the early evening rush. Cars honked and buses wheezed as they navigated the congested streets, a cacophony of urban life that seemed worlds apart from the serene quiet of Tytus Rost's northern Texas farm.
A battered old truck rumbled along a side street, its faded blue paint streaked with dust from the miles it had traveled. Inside, the smell of old leather, motor oil, and the faintest hint of freshly brewed coffee lingered—a blend of familiarity that grounded Tytus amidst the whirlwind of nerves, excitement, and anticipation swirling in his chest.
The massive man sat in the passenger seat, his hulking frame folded uncomfortably as he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. His intense blue eyes stared out the window, watching as the urban sprawl gave way to the outskirts of the city, the looming silhouette of the American Airlines Center beginning to appear on the horizon.
Behind the wheel was Berrick, his weathered hands gripping the steering wheel with the steady ease of a man who had spent his life mastering the rhythm of the road. His silver hair caught the light filtering through the dusty windshield, giving him an almost saintly glow, though the mischievous smirk on his lips betrayed his earthy humor.
“You ready for this, big guy?” Berrick asked, his Boston accent giving the words a clipped, sharp edge. He glanced sideways at Tytus, who was hunched over slightly in the cramped cab, his massive frame barely contained.
Tytus nodded, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Da. I am ready.”
“You don’t sound ready,” Berrick said, tossing a quick smirk. “You sound like somebody pissed in your borsht, there comrade.”
Tytus huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “I am always ready for a fight. But tonight... it is more than a fight.”
“Yeah, it’s everything,” Berrick finished for him, leaning one elbow against the wheel. “All the miles, the bruises, the sleepless nights. Everything you left behind back in Russia. It all comes down to this. So, yeah, no pressure, huh?”
The words hung heavy in the cab, and for a moment, neither man spoke.
Berrick reached for the coffee thermos wedged between them and took a swig. “Look, pal, I know you’re thinking about TJ, Natasha, Serenity—all of ‘em. But you’ve got the edge here, Rost. None of them have faced the kinda hell you have.”
“Is this so?” Tytus responded, a tinge of anger playing at the edge of his words. “It does not feel as though there is any edge here. TJ is fast,” Tytus said, his voice low. “He will try to wear me down. Natasha—she is a fighter, all grit and heart. And Serenity... she is the champion for a reason. She has beaten everyone put in front of her. They are not easy opponents.”
“Good,” Berrick said, leaning back in his seat with an easy confidence that only he could muster. “Nothing worth havin’ ever comes easy, pal. You didn’t come all the way from Siberia to roll over for a kid who looks like he’s got TikTok moves instead of fightin’ skills. And Serenity? Yeah, she’s good, but she ain’t unbeatable.”
Tytus chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound. “You sound like my wife.”
Berrick smirked. “That’s ‘cause Katie’s smart. And if I had a nickel for every time I was right, I’d own this damn city by now.”
The mention of Katya brought a flicker of longing to Tytus’ face. His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts. He fished it out and glanced at the screen.
“Speak of the devil,” he muttered, answering the call. “Katya.”
Her voice came through the line, warm yet laced with concern. “Tytus. I wanted to hear your voice before the match.”
“Everything is fine,” Tytus said, though his tone betrayed a hint of weariness. “How are things at home?”
Katya hesitated before replying. “Not good. The neighbors... well, people are talking about the election in America—”
She trailed off, but Tytus understood. The recent presidential election had reignited tensions between the United States and Russia, and while the geopolitical chess match played out on the world stage, families like his bore the brunt of the uncertainty.
“Everything will be fine, my love” Tytus responded, his voice tight.
“But, Tytus …” Katya replied. “They say the new president will tighten sanctions, that Russia will weaken. Others believe the opposite—that chaos will protect them, and no one will care if they take what is ours. Our farm, Tytus … what if they come for everything that you’ve built?”
Tytus clenched his jaw, his free hand balling into a fist.
Berrick arched a brow, catching the shift in his friend’s expression. “What’s up? Trouble?”
Tytus covered the phone’s mic. “Not yet. But I am sure there will be soon. The neighbors you had your run in with? It is only a matter of time now before they get more bold.”
On the line, Katya’s voice softened. “We need you here, Tytus. The boys need their papa. When will you come home?”
The question struck him like a blow. He closed his eyes, the weight of his choices pressing down on him. “Soon,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “After this match, after I win the title, I will come home. I promise.”
Katya’s voice softened further. “Then win, Tytus. Make all of this worth it. Fight for us.”
“I will,” he said, his resolve hardening.
“And Tytus?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful. You fight like a man with nothing to lose, but you have us. Always remember that.”
“I will, Katya. I promise.”
The call ended, leaving a lingering ache in Tytus’ chest. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and stared out the window, his expression unreadable.
Berrick, ever the pragmatist, leaned an arm on the wheel. “Listen, bud. When you and I left your lil’ homestead the neighbors and I had a little understanding. They don’t touch nothin’ of yours and I don’t burn down everything they love with them inside. That’ll keep ‘em at bay for the time being, but all this - that’s the kind of nonsense you wanna deal with after this match. Push it out of the way for now, yeah?”
“Da, if push comes to shove, I will deal with them,” Tytus said quietly. “But first, I must focus. First, I must win.”
“That’s the spirit,” Berrick said with a half-grin. “But for now, country mouse, you’re in the big city. Let’s show ‘em what a Boston guy and a Ural Mountain can do together.”
The truck cruised down the road as the conversation faded into silence. Tytus’ thoughts once again turned inward, his mind returning to the looming gauntlet match ahead. The gauntlet was unlike anything he had faced before, and every decision he had made in his life had led to this very moment. Every sacrifice, every bruise, every lonely night on the farm when the world felt too big and he felt too small—they had all been part of the plan. The plan that led him to this championship opportunity.
But now, with the added weight of his family being back home in Russia, his homestead here in Texas facing increasing pressure from encroaching neighbors, it wasn’t just about the match anymore. It was about securing their future. It was about proving to the world, and to himself, that all the sacrifices were worth it.
Tytus stared out the window, watching the skyline blur as they neared the arena. Dallas was a bustling city, its vibrant energy at odds with the quiet, methodical focus that had settled within him. The lights were coming on in the buildings, casting long shadows on the sidewalk, and there was a palpable energy in the air—a sense that something monumental was about to happen. And for Tytus, it would.
"Listen, I know you’ve been through hell and back, but tonight’s gonna be a different kind of battle," Berrick said, pulling Tytus out of his thoughts.
"Different how?" Tytus asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You’ve got a lot more at stake now, man. This isn’t just another match—it’s about legacy, it’s about proving everything you’ve sacrificed for isn’t in vain. You’ve spent your whole career working towards this moment." Berrick’s Boston accent was thickening as his words gained more weight. "Tonight, you’ve got the weight of your country, your wife, your family—hell, the whole damn world—on your shoulders. You go out there and make ‘em all proud. You don’t just win that title for you, Rost. You win it for every single person that’s been there for you."
Tytus nodded slowly, the words sinking in. He knew Berrick meant well. He’d been there from the beginning—watched him struggle and rise, and he had been a solid rock in his life through every hardship. But tonight... tonight was different.
Berrick's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror as the truck turned down the narrow street that led to their parking spot near the American Airlines Center. "So, what do you think about TJ, huh? You’re up first. Quick little bastard, that one. He’s gonna try to wear you down, but don’t let him get under your skin. Stick to the plan."
Tytus’ jaw tightened. "I know what he will do. He will move fast, try to outlast me. But speed is not the only advantage. Strength, endurance, control—that is where I will take this. I will make sure he knows that."
Berrick nodded approvingly, but his voice turned more serious. "’Kay, so you get through Teej, then you’ve got to worry about the Walker chick? She’s one tough cookie. Ain’t no slouch in that ring." He paused for a beat before adding, "Hell, you’ve had some issues with her in the past, right?"
Tytus grimaced slightly. “Da, we have faced off before. She... she’s smart. She has a way of getting into your head. But that is not going to work this time. This time, I will be focused. I will not let her control the match.”
"That’s what I wanna hear." Berrick gave him a sharp look before turning back to the road. "Now, you manage to take the legs out from under Walker,” Berrick smiles and elbows the big Russian, “y’see what I did there? Anyway, you beat ‘Tasha and then it’s down to just you and Serenity ..." His voice trailed off as he took a deep breath. "I know you’ve been waiting for this moment, big guy!"
Tytus’ eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of Serenity. She was the one person in the match who the thought of facing stirred something deep inside. He had immense respect for Serenity—she was as relentless and unyielding as they came, and if anyone could hold their own against him, it was her.
“She... she is the one to beat,” Tytus admitted, his tone measured. “But as I have been saying for weeks now, tovrich, Serenity has been hiding behind Roberto’s little army of hooded figures. She has gone out of her way to hide from me, to stay just out of my reach. She has extended her reign through cowardice. When it is the two of us in that ring together, there will be no more hiding. She will finally receive what I have been promising her all along. Her first, genuine punch in the mouth.” He paused, then added more quietly, “She is strong, but I am stronger.”
Berrick smirked, reaching over to tap Tytus on the shoulder. “Hell yeah, you are. You’ve got this in the bag, man. No doubt about it.”
They pulled into a parking spot, and the arena loomed ahead, a massive structure bathed in lights. The hum of the crowd was beginning to build, and Tytus could feel the pulse of excitement in the air. This was it—the culmination of everything he had worked for. As they got out of the truck, the smell of food trucks and street vendors wafted in the air, mixing with the scent of the city—smoke, metal, and fresh concrete.
Berrick grabbed the duffel bag from the back of the truck, throwing it over his shoulder with ease. “Alright, time to get you ready. You’ve got one hell of a fight ahead, but I know you can handle it.”
Tytus stood still for a moment, staring at the arena, his thoughts once again turning back to his family. Katya. The farm. The land. The fight ahead wasn’t just about a title—it was about securing everything he had worked for. If he won this, it would change the course of his family’s life forever.
A part of him wanted to be back home in Russia, dealing with the problems there, but he knew that if he didn’t win this match, there would be no future to secure. It was a bitter truth, but one he had come to terms with long ago. His loyalty lay here, in this moment, in this fight. He would do whatever it took to make sure the people he loved had a future, one that was free from the encroachments of greedy neighbors and political unrest.
As he walked toward the arena with Berrick, a hand clasped tightly on his shoulder, he found himself momentarily at peace with the decisions he had made. This was where he belonged. And tonight, he was going to prove that to the world.
“Let’s do this, Rost,” Berrick said, his voice low and steady, his Boston edge sharper than ever. “We’ve come too far for you to walk away empty-handed.”
Tytus looked up at the towering structure ahead, the echoing roar of the crowd growing louder with each step they took. “Tonight, I will leave everything in that ring,” he muttered, the determination in his voice unmistakable. “Tonight, I will make sure they know the name of Tytus Rost.”
As they reached the entrance, Tytus stopped for a moment, letting the weight of the moment settle on him. The journey had been long, and the road ahead even longer, but he was ready. Ready to fight. Ready to win. Ready to claim what was his.
And as the doors of the arena opened before him, the bright lights flooding his vision, Tytus knew this was just the beginning. The end of the road was within reach, and he was determined to take it, no matter the cost.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice low.
“Huh? For what?”
“For everything. For standing by me. For believing in me when no one else did.”
Berrick grinned. “Always, big guy. Now go out there and show them why they call you the Ural Mountain.”
Tytus nodded, his resolve unshakable.
This was his moment.
He would not let it slip away.
A battered old truck rumbled along a side street, its faded blue paint streaked with dust from the miles it had traveled. Inside, the smell of old leather, motor oil, and the faintest hint of freshly brewed coffee lingered—a blend of familiarity that grounded Tytus amidst the whirlwind of nerves, excitement, and anticipation swirling in his chest.
The massive man sat in the passenger seat, his hulking frame folded uncomfortably as he leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees. His intense blue eyes stared out the window, watching as the urban sprawl gave way to the outskirts of the city, the looming silhouette of the American Airlines Center beginning to appear on the horizon.
Behind the wheel was Berrick, his weathered hands gripping the steering wheel with the steady ease of a man who had spent his life mastering the rhythm of the road. His silver hair caught the light filtering through the dusty windshield, giving him an almost saintly glow, though the mischievous smirk on his lips betrayed his earthy humor.
“You ready for this, big guy?” Berrick asked, his Boston accent giving the words a clipped, sharp edge. He glanced sideways at Tytus, who was hunched over slightly in the cramped cab, his massive frame barely contained.
Tytus nodded, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Da. I am ready.”
“You don’t sound ready,” Berrick said, tossing a quick smirk. “You sound like somebody pissed in your borsht, there comrade.”
Tytus huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “I am always ready for a fight. But tonight... it is more than a fight.”
“Yeah, it’s everything,” Berrick finished for him, leaning one elbow against the wheel. “All the miles, the bruises, the sleepless nights. Everything you left behind back in Russia. It all comes down to this. So, yeah, no pressure, huh?”
The words hung heavy in the cab, and for a moment, neither man spoke.
Berrick reached for the coffee thermos wedged between them and took a swig. “Look, pal, I know you’re thinking about TJ, Natasha, Serenity—all of ‘em. But you’ve got the edge here, Rost. None of them have faced the kinda hell you have.”
“Is this so?” Tytus responded, a tinge of anger playing at the edge of his words. “It does not feel as though there is any edge here. TJ is fast,” Tytus said, his voice low. “He will try to wear me down. Natasha—she is a fighter, all grit and heart. And Serenity... she is the champion for a reason. She has beaten everyone put in front of her. They are not easy opponents.”
“Good,” Berrick said, leaning back in his seat with an easy confidence that only he could muster. “Nothing worth havin’ ever comes easy, pal. You didn’t come all the way from Siberia to roll over for a kid who looks like he’s got TikTok moves instead of fightin’ skills. And Serenity? Yeah, she’s good, but she ain’t unbeatable.”
Tytus chuckled, a deep, gravelly sound. “You sound like my wife.”
Berrick smirked. “That’s ‘cause Katie’s smart. And if I had a nickel for every time I was right, I’d own this damn city by now.”
The mention of Katya brought a flicker of longing to Tytus’ face. His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him from his thoughts. He fished it out and glanced at the screen.
“Speak of the devil,” he muttered, answering the call. “Katya.”
Her voice came through the line, warm yet laced with concern. “Tytus. I wanted to hear your voice before the match.”
“Everything is fine,” Tytus said, though his tone betrayed a hint of weariness. “How are things at home?”
Katya hesitated before replying. “Not good. The neighbors... well, people are talking about the election in America—”
She trailed off, but Tytus understood. The recent presidential election had reignited tensions between the United States and Russia, and while the geopolitical chess match played out on the world stage, families like his bore the brunt of the uncertainty.
“Everything will be fine, my love” Tytus responded, his voice tight.
“But, Tytus …” Katya replied. “They say the new president will tighten sanctions, that Russia will weaken. Others believe the opposite—that chaos will protect them, and no one will care if they take what is ours. Our farm, Tytus … what if they come for everything that you’ve built?”
Tytus clenched his jaw, his free hand balling into a fist.
Berrick arched a brow, catching the shift in his friend’s expression. “What’s up? Trouble?”
Tytus covered the phone’s mic. “Not yet. But I am sure there will be soon. The neighbors you had your run in with? It is only a matter of time now before they get more bold.”
On the line, Katya’s voice softened. “We need you here, Tytus. The boys need their papa. When will you come home?”
The question struck him like a blow. He closed his eyes, the weight of his choices pressing down on him. “Soon,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “After this match, after I win the title, I will come home. I promise.”
Katya’s voice softened further. “Then win, Tytus. Make all of this worth it. Fight for us.”
“I will,” he said, his resolve hardening.
“And Tytus?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful. You fight like a man with nothing to lose, but you have us. Always remember that.”
“I will, Katya. I promise.”
The call ended, leaving a lingering ache in Tytus’ chest. He slipped the phone back into his pocket and stared out the window, his expression unreadable.
Berrick, ever the pragmatist, leaned an arm on the wheel. “Listen, bud. When you and I left your lil’ homestead the neighbors and I had a little understanding. They don’t touch nothin’ of yours and I don’t burn down everything they love with them inside. That’ll keep ‘em at bay for the time being, but all this - that’s the kind of nonsense you wanna deal with after this match. Push it out of the way for now, yeah?”
“Da, if push comes to shove, I will deal with them,” Tytus said quietly. “But first, I must focus. First, I must win.”
“That’s the spirit,” Berrick said with a half-grin. “But for now, country mouse, you’re in the big city. Let’s show ‘em what a Boston guy and a Ural Mountain can do together.”
------------
The truck cruised down the road as the conversation faded into silence. Tytus’ thoughts once again turned inward, his mind returning to the looming gauntlet match ahead. The gauntlet was unlike anything he had faced before, and every decision he had made in his life had led to this very moment. Every sacrifice, every bruise, every lonely night on the farm when the world felt too big and he felt too small—they had all been part of the plan. The plan that led him to this championship opportunity.
But now, with the added weight of his family being back home in Russia, his homestead here in Texas facing increasing pressure from encroaching neighbors, it wasn’t just about the match anymore. It was about securing their future. It was about proving to the world, and to himself, that all the sacrifices were worth it.
Tytus stared out the window, watching the skyline blur as they neared the arena. Dallas was a bustling city, its vibrant energy at odds with the quiet, methodical focus that had settled within him. The lights were coming on in the buildings, casting long shadows on the sidewalk, and there was a palpable energy in the air—a sense that something monumental was about to happen. And for Tytus, it would.
"Listen, I know you’ve been through hell and back, but tonight’s gonna be a different kind of battle," Berrick said, pulling Tytus out of his thoughts.
"Different how?" Tytus asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You’ve got a lot more at stake now, man. This isn’t just another match—it’s about legacy, it’s about proving everything you’ve sacrificed for isn’t in vain. You’ve spent your whole career working towards this moment." Berrick’s Boston accent was thickening as his words gained more weight. "Tonight, you’ve got the weight of your country, your wife, your family—hell, the whole damn world—on your shoulders. You go out there and make ‘em all proud. You don’t just win that title for you, Rost. You win it for every single person that’s been there for you."
Tytus nodded slowly, the words sinking in. He knew Berrick meant well. He’d been there from the beginning—watched him struggle and rise, and he had been a solid rock in his life through every hardship. But tonight... tonight was different.
Berrick's eyes flicked to the rearview mirror as the truck turned down the narrow street that led to their parking spot near the American Airlines Center. "So, what do you think about TJ, huh? You’re up first. Quick little bastard, that one. He’s gonna try to wear you down, but don’t let him get under your skin. Stick to the plan."
Tytus’ jaw tightened. "I know what he will do. He will move fast, try to outlast me. But speed is not the only advantage. Strength, endurance, control—that is where I will take this. I will make sure he knows that."
Berrick nodded approvingly, but his voice turned more serious. "’Kay, so you get through Teej, then you’ve got to worry about the Walker chick? She’s one tough cookie. Ain’t no slouch in that ring." He paused for a beat before adding, "Hell, you’ve had some issues with her in the past, right?"
Tytus grimaced slightly. “Da, we have faced off before. She... she’s smart. She has a way of getting into your head. But that is not going to work this time. This time, I will be focused. I will not let her control the match.”
"That’s what I wanna hear." Berrick gave him a sharp look before turning back to the road. "Now, you manage to take the legs out from under Walker,” Berrick smiles and elbows the big Russian, “y’see what I did there? Anyway, you beat ‘Tasha and then it’s down to just you and Serenity ..." His voice trailed off as he took a deep breath. "I know you’ve been waiting for this moment, big guy!"
Tytus’ eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of Serenity. She was the one person in the match who the thought of facing stirred something deep inside. He had immense respect for Serenity—she was as relentless and unyielding as they came, and if anyone could hold their own against him, it was her.
“She... she is the one to beat,” Tytus admitted, his tone measured. “But as I have been saying for weeks now, tovrich, Serenity has been hiding behind Roberto’s little army of hooded figures. She has gone out of her way to hide from me, to stay just out of my reach. She has extended her reign through cowardice. When it is the two of us in that ring together, there will be no more hiding. She will finally receive what I have been promising her all along. Her first, genuine punch in the mouth.” He paused, then added more quietly, “She is strong, but I am stronger.”
Berrick smirked, reaching over to tap Tytus on the shoulder. “Hell yeah, you are. You’ve got this in the bag, man. No doubt about it.”
They pulled into a parking spot, and the arena loomed ahead, a massive structure bathed in lights. The hum of the crowd was beginning to build, and Tytus could feel the pulse of excitement in the air. This was it—the culmination of everything he had worked for. As they got out of the truck, the smell of food trucks and street vendors wafted in the air, mixing with the scent of the city—smoke, metal, and fresh concrete.
Berrick grabbed the duffel bag from the back of the truck, throwing it over his shoulder with ease. “Alright, time to get you ready. You’ve got one hell of a fight ahead, but I know you can handle it.”
Tytus stood still for a moment, staring at the arena, his thoughts once again turning back to his family. Katya. The farm. The land. The fight ahead wasn’t just about a title—it was about securing everything he had worked for. If he won this, it would change the course of his family’s life forever.
A part of him wanted to be back home in Russia, dealing with the problems there, but he knew that if he didn’t win this match, there would be no future to secure. It was a bitter truth, but one he had come to terms with long ago. His loyalty lay here, in this moment, in this fight. He would do whatever it took to make sure the people he loved had a future, one that was free from the encroachments of greedy neighbors and political unrest.
As he walked toward the arena with Berrick, a hand clasped tightly on his shoulder, he found himself momentarily at peace with the decisions he had made. This was where he belonged. And tonight, he was going to prove that to the world.
“Let’s do this, Rost,” Berrick said, his voice low and steady, his Boston edge sharper than ever. “We’ve come too far for you to walk away empty-handed.”
Tytus looked up at the towering structure ahead, the echoing roar of the crowd growing louder with each step they took. “Tonight, I will leave everything in that ring,” he muttered, the determination in his voice unmistakable. “Tonight, I will make sure they know the name of Tytus Rost.”
As they reached the entrance, Tytus stopped for a moment, letting the weight of the moment settle on him. The journey had been long, and the road ahead even longer, but he was ready. Ready to fight. Ready to win. Ready to claim what was his.
And as the doors of the arena opened before him, the bright lights flooding his vision, Tytus knew this was just the beginning. The end of the road was within reach, and he was determined to take it, no matter the cost.
“Thank you,” he said, his voice low.
“Huh? For what?”
“For everything. For standing by me. For believing in me when no one else did.”
Berrick grinned. “Always, big guy. Now go out there and show them why they call you the Ural Mountain.”
Tytus nodded, his resolve unshakable.
This was his moment.
He would not let it slip away.
Well howdy there pardner.