A month ago.

In truth, it hadn't been a good trip for Kyle and Joey. It had seemed
like such a cool idea - to fly from their native Vancouver up to
Anchorage, party up in the frozen North for a week or so, and then drive
back down through Alaska and the West coast of Canada. It would give
them a chance to see some of the awesome scenery before it was
completely winter-locked, maybe do some snowboarding in the mountains if
the early snow held, and make up some stories around Christmas parties
about night spent in Hicksville bars in the back end of nowhere.

That had been idea, but the reality had been somewhat different.
Anchorage hadn't really lived up to their hopes of being a party town,
and yet had still managed to cost them much more money than they had
budgeted for. Consequently, the cool enormous monster SUV they'd agreed
to get from the car rental company had become a rather less commodious
Toyota 4x4 with a wheezy engine. The weather hadn't been good, with more
freezing cold rain than snow, and cloud which seemed to hang at about 15
feet off the ground. It was cold, but not the sort of cold you could
enjoy. It wasn't crisp and fresh, it was simply punishingly mind-numbing
cold and miserable.

So they had driven the miles, quietly getting on each other's nerves
along the way as any two people forced to spend a week crammed into a
car together will probably do. They'd found their one-horse towns in
Alaska, but once the novelty wore off after a few nights, they began to
realise that a one-horse town usually means a pretty bad hotel room,
worse food, and yet more time spent in each other's company. Far from
being the boy's own adventure into the wilderness they dreamed of, the
trip was turning into one which they would much rather forget, and they
hadn't even made it out of the far North of Canada yet.

It was with some relief then that the pair had pulled into the town of
Yellowknife, some 100 miles South of the Arctic Circle. The town was
hardly the bright centre of the universe, but it was at least a proper
town. It had hotels, bars, restaurants, and enough space and other
people for them to get out of each other's way for a while.

After a full day of avoiding each other, both felt immeasurably better,
and were ready to be sociable again. They'd met in the hotel bar and
Kyle had mentioned he'd seen a bar on the other side of town that was
holding one of those no holds barred tough man fight contests that
evening. It was the sort of thing you'd expect to find in a town like
Yellowknife, which at this time of year was just starting to gather its
thoughts ahead of the winter ice roads opening and a shed load of
truckers arriving to ferry stuff to the diamond mines which lay North of
the town. Kyle had suggested it might be a laugh to go along, have a few
beers, and watch a bit of mindless violence. They were both wrestling
and MMA fans, and starved of entertainment during the past week, so Joey
had readily agreed.

When they had arrived at the bar, their delicate city-dwelling
sensibilities had been in for a shock. It looked like the sort of place
where you swept up the broken teeth at the end of the night along with
the broken glasses. Chipped and battered wooden tables and scuffed
furniture surrounded an 18ft square cage in the middle of the bar area,
which they correctly guessed made up the area in which the fights would
take place. The floor was dirty, with more than a few stains which
seemed suspiciously like blood. Both guessed that they were unlikely to
see a technical contest take place in there tonight. The bar itself was
dark, even dingy, and at least half of the neon signs on the wall
blinked erratically, or else didn't work at all. They were early, and
only a few punters had arrived, most of them hanging around the pool
table, which Kyle noticed was scuffed to death and lit badly by a single
bulb. It was very clearly not their sort of place.

Both had considered suggesting to the other that they leave there and
then, but neither had actually said it, as neither wanted to by the
first to crack, so instead they walked to the bar and ordered two beers
- which were served flat in glasses that had rarely seen a glass washing
machine. They'd taken to standing at the bar - fearing that the tables
would have "regulars" who wouldn't take kindly to them sitting there -
and drunk their beer quietly. This was already turning into a bad idea.
The advertised start of the festivities was 8:00pm, and as the clock
ticked past seven, the bar started to fill with an assortment of
characters not seen outside the cantina scene from Star Wars. There
were biker guys, truckers, construction engineers, and various sorts
from the far extremities of the social fringe. The smell of oil, dirt,
sweat, cigar smoke, and barely contained anger, hung ominously in the
air. Their presence - in too new Timberland boots and designer hooded
sweatshirts - had drawn some looks and a few mumbled remarks, but so far
no-one had done any more than that. They were both grateful, as neither
could expect the other to whip out a lightsaber if they were told
someone didn't like them.

At about 5 to 8 the assembled throng had begun to move toward the seats
around the stage, taking up various positions in clusters according -
Kyle and Joey presumed - to their allegiance to the competitors. At
about 5 past 8 what passed for an MC for the proceedings - an angry
trucker type in a black cowboy hat with a beard you could lose children
in - stepped through a door in the cage, and kicked things off by
growling into a rusty echoing mike. The rules of the contest appeared
to be simple enough and consisted of nothing more than the principle
that anything went as long as you didn't kill an opponent. Fights went
five minutes, but would end sooner in the event of your opponent being
knocked out, quitting, or the corner throwing in the towel.

The first contest consisted of two guys they assumed must be local
truckers, judging by the support they were getting from the group in the
corner with the trucker caps and jackets. One was an older guy, well
into his forties, but he looked tough with it, and his face bore the
scars of a few bar fights. The other guy was younger, leaner, fitter,
and looked like he'd been hardened by a few years in a prison somewhere.
Expectations were for a good contest, but in truth their fight was
really quite disappointing, in that they wailed away on each other with
neither a sense of technique, nor any real viciousness. It went the full
five minutes - to a series of boos and catcalls - and the MC quickly
dismissed them to the back.

The next contest was between a biker, and a guy from one of the diamond
mines up North. The miner had his support, but the biker gang were
louder, and their man must have had 50lbs on the other. This contest was
more brutal, with the biker making liberal use of the cage walls to
smash open his opponent and streak the already dirty floor with more
blood. It was over inside two minutes, when the miner's friends threw in
the towel, much to the delight of the assembled bike gang. Their
celebration caused a few scuffles in the bar, but Joey and Kyle were
happy to see it got broken up quickly.

The next few contests were equally ugly and brutal affairs, and even
though they were fight fans, Kyle and Joey found it hard to really enjoy
themselves. This was a far cry from UFC. These guys weren't trained
fighters or performers, and were just battering each other. There was
something a bit sad and desperate about it all, and far from making them
feel better it made them start to question what made these men take that
sort of risk in a dirt-encrusted crap hole like this. An exchanged look
had them agreeing this wasn't improving their trip, and they decided to
leave after the next fight.

The MC walked into the ring, and he seemed to have a little more pep in
his step for the upcoming contest. He told the crowd to settle down, and
then proceeded to hype the fight as being the one they had been waiting
for. Joey and Kyle were only half listening as they heard him introduce
a fighter who was representing one of the diamond mines outside town. He
was apparently something akin to the local champion, and when he stepped
into the ring, it wasn't hard to see why. Dressed in black dungarees and
a grey vest, he was at least 6'9" and built with it. Heavily muscled and
as thick as a house, his dark skin shone with sweat. He was marked with
various tattoos, and more than a few scars from previous fights, and his
expression dripped malevolent hatred and anger. At the bar, Kyle
wondered aloud who the hell would volunteer to fight that.

They got their answer. The MC introduced a fighter out of Montana, USA.
Some guy called Luke Asterson.

Asterson...Joey was sure he'd heard that before somewhere.

A few seconds later, the level of noise from the crowd in the bar
suddenly dropped from a dull roar to a murmured series of hushes. All
eyes had turned to a door at the back where the various combatants had
entered the bar before making their way to the cage. In the doorway, or
more appropriately totally filling it, was a huge figure; much larger
even than the man mountain who was already in the ring. He was dressed
in scuffed jeans, and a black sleeveless hooded top which was pulled
forward to obscure his face. His hands were taped, and the muscles in
his enormous arms seemed to strain against his skin. He was at least
seven feet tall, and weighed well over 300lbs.

Clearly, the crowd weren't sure what to make of this huge man, but he
didn't give them time to consider it for too long. Without a sideways
glance he walked calmly to the cage, through the door, and stood facing
his opponent. He still hadn't removed the hood.

There was something about the way he moved though. For a huge man he was
very light on his feet, very balanced and graceful. He reminded Joey
of......

.....holy sh*t

Asterson.......as in Asterson House!

But it couldn't be; there was no way. He'd been gone for nearly two
years. No-one had seen or heard anything from him. He'd just vanished.
He couldn't be here? Joey turned to Kyle, but as he did so he could see
that he wasn't the only one thinking what he was thinking. Kyle was
standing there with his mouth hung an inch or so open, just gawping in
shock. After a few seconds, he turned to Joey.

"That....That can't be ?"

"You think it is?"

"Why would he be here?"

"He isn't anywhere else!"

"But it can't be"

Further debate was prevented by the fact that the MC had left the cage
now, and the fight was about to start. This guy Asterson had turned his
back and was standing in the corner of the cage saying something to
himself under his breath. Across the cage, his opponent paced back and
forth, and as the bell rang, he launched himself across the gap between
them with a running charge. Asterson didn't appear to move until well
after it was too late, but almost as if by magic he casually sidestepped
the charge at the very last second, and smashed a left hand straight
into the miner's stomach.

The big man dropped to the ground, gasping for air, and Asterson simply
walked away to the other side of the cage, his face still obscured by
the hood. As the miner pulled himself to his feet, he came again with
another attack, and again Asterson dodged it with almost unnatural ease,
this time slamming in a short side-kick to the knee which dropped the
miner to the floor.

Some in the crowd were booing. Others had started to laugh. The miner
was clearly being embarrassed. Everyone's eyes were now on this huge
man, Asterson, and no-one was watching the miner as he looked up from
the floor at the crowd clearly enjoying his being made to look stupid.
His eyes narrowed with fury at the position he was in, and his hand
slipped into the pocket of the dungarees he was wearing. His fingers
closed around something hard and metallic as he sprung back to his feet,
and he charged with his arm swinging. Kyle saw the knife flash and
before he could help himself, found he was yelling.

"lookout!!!"

In the ring, the hooded giant's head suddenly snapped around at the
sound of the call. He saw the charging man, and clocked the cold steel
of the knife as it swung toward him. The giant reacted with incredible
speed, twisting his body and striking up with the palm of his hand into
the man's face. There was a sickening crack of bone, and the knife
wielding miner hit the ground, hard.

Dead.

For a moment, no-one moved, and then the hooded giant turned in Kyle's
direction. The hood had slipped back, and the giant lifted a hand to
correct it. But for a brief moment, Kyle caught sight of something which
confirmed what they had scarcely believed.

His eyes

No-one else had eyes like his.

Kyle's tone was hushed as he turned to Joey "Oh my God. It is him. It's
the Reaper!