The streets of the suburbs roared in cheering as street fighters were put up against each other. Bets are placed for which fighter may emerge victorious in their battle and the losers are in the back and given rags and bandages, or in some cases, a friend will bring them to the hospital. That was just the case for a poor soul during that night’s most un-anticipated match. The crowds cheering disappeared slowly as a man with shiny jet black hair appeared and entered the ring. The announcer stuttered and could not make out any words. “I guess I’m the one doing the announcing then, my name is D.K. Walker, the man who’s going to beat all you competitors,” he said with a deep voice. The other man in the ring with Walker couldn’t stop shaking as a much pummeled looking fellow competitor says to him, “Just a warning here pal, if you value your life and want to live another day, I suggest you leave this match now.” The competitor looked up at the tall man and began to shake uncontrollably. He put his hands up and went into a fighting stance. Walker grunted and stood tall with a menacing look. He warned his opponent, “Maybe, just maybe, Death won’t be knocking on your door today.” And so the match started.
Walker did nothing but block with swift blurs of movements for the first few moments as his opponent struggled trying to land a hit on the tall and strongly built man. As the two fought, someone in the crowd had started asking the announcer why everyone had feared Walker, and what does the D. and K. stand for? The announcer said, “He doesn’t just fight for the win that Walker, but the D. and the K. stand for “Death Knock,” because of his signature end move.” The person that had asked shivered and thought to himself, “This aura must be the blistering cold of hell!” After a few moments during the fight, the opponent finally landed a punch straight to the gut of walker and twisted the punch pushing the tall man backward. Walker opened and lengthened his arms from side to side mocking his opponent as if to say, “Give me your best shot, c’mon kid.” Walker’s opponent roared as he ran towards him and aimed for Walker’s head.
A loud and solid thud sounded throughout the area as the competitors punch landed against Walker. Walker grabbed the opponent’s hand and lifted him in the air then threw him to the ground. The opponent cringed in pain as Walker picked him up and put him on his feet again, only for Walker to throw a quick flurry of jabs. The competitor stumbled backward then retaliated by landing 3 more punches to the gut. “What’s your name kid? I haven’t had quite a fight like this in forever,” Walker said with a satisfied voice. His opponent replied, “My name is Allen.” Walker went into a strange fighting stance and the crowd looked away, Allen looked increasingly worried. “Allen huh? Well you chose to become a street fighter, so you know how these end, and the betters are promised their money, one of us goes in but only one gets out, dead, or alive,” he said. Walker continued in a deadly demonic like tone, “Knock……knock,” He growled with a smile as the air froze stone cold. Death Knock Walker had won again. Walker stepped toward one of the betters and asked if he could take the money and pay for the poor kids wounds. He only asked because his opponent Allen was the first to ever survive Death’s Knock. As he walked out of the crowd with each step equal to that of a giant walking around, the sky cracked with lightning streaking across it, and in a flash Walker disappeared right where he once stood.