Ruslan Raskolnikov

Throughout his whole MMA career, Ruslan had 130 fights ; 108 wins and 22 losses. A remarkable number for such a young fighter who's only 22.

Commentators, critiques, fellow boxers, and anyone who had opinions from all around the world called him different names. After all, he was known for being an absolute monster in the cage, surpassing all physical limitations a normal human would be subjected by and winning like his life depended on it every single time.

And at one point in his life, it did.

Every time Ruslan closed his eyes and tried to focus, whether that would be for practice or simply just for sleep, he could still hear the deafening sounds of his mother crying and his father screaming at her. And he could do nothing about it but sit there in the corner furthest away from where they were in their small makeshift home, covering his ears and trying his best to imagine a better life while he fought the tears that were threatening to trickle down a four year old's face.

Now, at 22, he never had to worry anymore about having to protect himself. People respected him. People worshipped him. And no one dared laying a finger on him considering the position he was in now. Every punch he swung was heavy with anger, guilt, and a sense of helplessness that never really went away.

Ruslan never let anyone near him. The very thought of someone even putting their hands on him more than a pat on the back was absolutely terrifying to say the least. Repulsive. Disgusting.

He had tried so many ways to get rid of all traces of that horrible man he once called his father. He even bleached his light brown hair dirty blonde because that's what people always pointed out looked similar to his father's. Luckily he had gotten his mother's eyes. If not, he'd probably have to gouge them out at some point as well.

Because of all these things, it made him become the person he was now. Cold, ruthless, slightly arrogant, and easily irritated. Even at you, or the people around you who did absolutely nothing wrong. Every time you tried to help him with something, he'd brush it off, maybe add a little insult as well about how incompetent you were at your job as his assistant. Today was no difference.

"You've done that a hundred times yet you can’t do it right."

Ruslan sneered as he walked off to the changing room, the crowd of fightings parting a way for him like he was a scary predator and they were all just little mice.