Reborn in America: Starting as a California Resident

"Place your bet! Place your bet!"

In the early morning of August 15, 1979, deep in the Chihuahua Desert of Mexico, in an abandoned silver mine 8 meters underground, a morbid carnival intertwined with bloodshed and extravagance was in full swing.

This is the "Blood Cave," swallowed by darkness, an underground base built on depravity and desire.

The dealer, wearing a fine monocle, resembled a mad missionary, shouting hoarsely in the center of the field.

The gong in his hand was struck with deafening force, the sound seemingly unwilling to be imprisoned by the darkness, desperately trying to break through the many obstacles three hundred meters underground, reaching the surface, and letting the world know about the evil hidden deep within.

Below the stage, a group of audience members dressed in fine clothes pulled out their checkbooks and began writing furiously.

The figures they wrote down are enough for the middle class outside the city, who struggle day and night to pay their mortgages and car loans, to spend their entire lives chasing after.

But in this "blood pit," these are nothing more than numbers games they play at will!

Furthermore, what they were betting was not just money;

There's also the issue of boxers' lives, deaths, and organs, treating the lives and bodies of others as bargaining chips to satisfy one's own morbid desires.

"Five million bet on a Brazilian python!"

I want to see him crush this black cockroach with my own eyes!

A Mexican oil tycoon roared as he slammed his checks onto a gilded gambling table inlaid with human bones.

The fat trembled violently with his shouts, bearing witness to the cheapness of life and the depravity of humanity.

The crystal chandelier illuminated the blood-stained iron cage, making it resemble a sacrificial altar.

The cigar smoke exhaled by Wall Street financial tycoons mingled with the aroma of Romanée-Conti wine treasured by European royalty, fermenting wildly in the air mixed with the pungent smell of blood.

A group of well-dressed "apex vultures" were displaying a ferocity and excitement that was completely opposite to their usual demeanor!

It was as if the world was about to be destroyed, and they were seizing the moment to enjoy this last madness, sinking deeper and deeper into the abyss of sin.

A banker from Zurich, whose movements were elegant yet cold.

He slowly removed his gold-rimmed glasses, gently pricked his fingertip with the nib of his pen, and let a bead of bright red blood seep out. He pressed the bloody mark onto the betting ticket and said coldly, "Eight million bets on that black man lasting seven minutes—but I want his right hand as a bonus."

His voice was devoid of any warmth, as if he were talking not about a person's life and bodily organs, but about an ordinary commodity!

In this dark transaction, the value of life is completely distorted.

"Gentlemen, the betting pool has reached $230 million tonight!"

The dealer's roar rang out again, stirring up a sea of ​​crimson commotion in the stands.

The eyes of the powerful and wealthy gleamed with greed. They couldn't wait to see the outcome of this bloody battle, like hungry beasts staring intently at their prey, waiting for the moment it fell so they could devour it completely.

On the other hand, unlike the frenzy outside;

Rafael, the "Python" from Brazil, and Akuba, the "Cheetah" from Africa, walked silently side by side toward the iron cage. The gilded passage inlaid with animal bones automatically cracked open with two grooves—this was the seventh time in the 30-year history of "Bloody Hole" that the "Bronze Trial" procedure had been initiated. Only boxing champions with a career winning percentage of over 98% are worthy of this honor.

The hydraulic devices on both sides of the passage slowly pushed out twenty-seven golden statues, each skull engraved with the name of a legend they had ended: from the "Siberian Bear" in 1972 to the "Mekong Crocodile King" who just fell last month.

"Homage to the God of War!"

Suddenly, a series of crisp, rhythmic clanging sounds of sabers striking each other erupted from the stands.

Those politicians who usually applaud on Capitol Hill and arms dealers who sign kill orders with pens are now raising specially made tungsten steel daggers like nobles in the ancient Roman Senate—each hilt inlaid with a 'token' from its previous owner.

This is the most sacred cheer in the underground boxing ring, last heard on the night of the "Devil Twins'" mutual killing in 1976.

The crystal chandelier swayed above their heads, tearing their shadows into tangled, trapped beasts.

Raphael pulled out half a dried crocodile bone from a hidden pocket in his waistband; this was a token of alliance among the Amazonian tribe warriors.

Akuba then removed the lion's mane necklace, soaked with sweat, from his neck; Maasai warriors only remove this sacred object at funerals.

When the two tokens collided on the floor of the iron cage, they produced a clearer ringing sound than the screams of the gamblers.

Place your bet!

Only thirty seconds left!

The dealer's gong nearly shattered the bulletproof glass.

The two knelt down on one knee at the same time, untied the blood-stained hand wraps, and exchanged them.

May your God forgive me.

"My ancestors will be waiting for you at the end of the grassland."

"Ding!"

As the highest-level "Blood Oath Ceremony" of the "Blood Cave" came to an end, the starting bell rang loudly.

Raphael, like a mad bull, launched the first attack.

His eyes burned with anger and a will to survive, and a powerful straight punch instantly tore through the air, striking Akuba's temple.

As South America's number one boxing champion, Rafael has remained undefeated for three consecutive years in this dark world of fighting.

Every fighter who dared to challenge him was either seriously injured by his punches or had their fighting career ended abruptly.

The "Ring of Death" championship belt he won was forged from the blood of his opponents and the pain of his own wounds, every inch of leather representing his honor.

Note: In the "Ring of Death," there are no rules, no mercy, only life-or-death struggles. Those who emerge from there are all legendary fighters of the underworld.

And Akuba, the black man, is certainly no pushover as Rafael's opponent tonight!

He is the "Shadow Killer" of the African underground fighting world, and has maintained the highest winning streak record in the "Golden Sands Arena" for many years.

He defeated countless powerful opponents there. His fighting skills combined the primal power of African tribes with his own wisdom. Every punch and every dodge carried a deadly threat.

He once killed his opponent on the spot with a decisive blow, which made him famous in the underground fighting world in Africa.

The "Golden Sands Arena" is Africa's darkest and bloodiest underground fighting arena, where fighters from various tribes battle for survival and glory.

As the last syllable of the funeral hymn fell to the ground, Akuba dodged to the right like a nimble cheetah;

His movements were light and swift, giving his opponent no chance to catch his breath.

A side kick as swift as lightning aimed straight for Raphael's chest and ribs.

Seeing this, Raphael quickly changed his move, using his arm to block the attack, but he was still forced back several steps by the enormous impact.

A deep bruise was instantly left on his arm.

"Kill him!"

Kill him!