The three of them pushed their way through the underground arena, following the white-haired boy as he wove through the crowd. The place was suffocating with noise shouts, groans, drunken laughter. The air reeked of sweat, blood, and cheap liquor.
Azrael bumped into a staggering drunk, the man reeking of piss and sour ale. His nose wrinkled beneath his oni mask. He had always thought of Arcanum users as noble, untouchable. To see one reduced to such filth was jarring. They were no different from common beggars.
Catching their surprise, the white-haired boy glanced back. "Arcanum or not we're all still human. Many here never saw the inside of an academy. They're Self-taught, rough, and brutal. Don't expect refinement."
Azrael said nothing, but the words sank in.
"How do I join the ring?" he asked, his eyes gleaming as he watched duels unfold in the pit. Fighters bled, screamed, and fell, yet the crowd roared for more.
"Follow me," the boy said. "I'll take you to the organizer."
They wormed their way to a raised platform where a fat, round man sat like a king. His thick fingers adorned with heavy gold rings wandered across the half-naked women sprawled on his lap, groping. A cigar smoldered between his teeth. Behind him stood a hulking man in a black suit, scanning the crowd with predator's eyes.
The boy cupped his hands to his mouth and shouted, voice cutting through the crowd.
"Manager! It's me, Hans! Remember? I told you I'd bring you the best fighter you've ever seen!"
The fat man turned, his face splitting into a grin that revealed gold teeth. "Hans, my boy! Come closer, bring your friends!"
The bouncer let them through, and servants hurried to place stools near the man's chair. The women on his lap looked away, expressionless masks hiding discomfort.
"What brings you here, Hans? And take off that silly mask. If you're here for work, I've got none for you tonight." The man exhaled smoke into the air, not caring where it drifted.
Hans shook his head quickly. "I've brought you something better. The Academy's rising star. He's ruthless, clever, charismatic. A born killer."
The man's eyes sharpened. "Oh? Where is he?"
Hans stepped back and gestured at Azrael.
The fat man studied the masked figure in silence. Azrael stared back, unflinching. For long moments, neither looked away.
"What's your name, boy?" the man finally asked.
Azrael paused, then answered with a voice like sharpened steel. "Crimson."
The man smirked, blowing out another stream of smoke. "Bold name for a brat still wet behind the ears."
He waved a jeweled hand. "Bosco, register Crimson. Next fight. Ensure he gets a decent opponent."
The bouncer nodded and disappeared into the crowd.
"The ring takes twenty percent of your winnings," the fat man continued. "The more you win, the stronger your opponents. Lose and you may die. No one interferes once the fight begins. Normally, I wouldn't let a fresh whelp like you in, but Hans is like family. As a welcome gift I'll even pay your entry fee."
Azrael tilted his head, the oni mask catching the torchlight. "You'll make plenty of coin from me. No need for thank yous"
For a heartbeat the fat man just stared then erupted into booming laughter. "I like you, kid! Anyone who fattens my purse will always be my friend. Go. Your turn is coming."
Azrael turned without another word. As they made their way down toward the pit, Liyana leaned close, whispering, "Will you really be able to kill a man, Az?"
He scoffed. "I've slit goats, pigs, chickens. Humans aren't much different."
They reached the side of the arena just as the announcer's voice rang out, echoing across the chamber: "New entry tonight! A fighter fresh from the Academy! He calls himself CRIMSON! And his opponent is our very own BOULDER!"
The crowd erupted, stamping their feet. A towering man stepped into the ring, scars carved deep across his barrel chest. He stood over six feet, muscles like coiled rope, his thick neck red from years of strain. Middle-aged, hardened, and brutal.
Azrael stepped forward in his faded shirt and trousers, the red oni mask covering his face. To the crowd, the contrast was laughable, he barely reached his opponent at his waist.
Laughter rippled across the stands.
Azrael's fists clenched. He despised being looked down on. With a snap, his gauntlet formed, black steel gleaming under the lights. He dropped into a stance, cold and coiled. The laughter faltered.
The announcer's voice cut through. "Odds are five to one Boulder favored! Place your bets now! The fight begins in thirty seconds!"
Boulder didn't bother to move, arms crossed, grinning down at the boy.
Azrael's eyes burned behind the mask.
The gong echoed. Azrael shot forward, a streak of motion, gauntlets flashing under the arena's dim lights. His first blow cracked against Boulder's ribs, without wasting time the second slammed into his jaw. The crowd gasped. For a moment, the giant staggered, surprise flickering across his scarred face.
Azrael pressed the attack, each strike harder than the last. His fists were small compared to Boulder's bulk, but they were precise, relentless and quick.
Then Boulder frowned.
With a stomp, the ground trembled. Jagged stone crawled over his arms, forming crude armor and heavy fists of rock. He swung, a mountain in motion. The blow caught Azrael's guard and sent him tumbling across the ring. He could feel that his ribs were broken and all it took was one hit.
The crowd roared.
Azrael spat blood, forcing himself upright, Shakingly. Boulder advanced, every step slow and deliberate, fists pounding into the ground and spraying shards of stone. Azrael dodged the first and the second, but a third strike clipped his shoulder. Pain lanced through him, and a follow-up knee knocked the air from his lungs. As he fell.
The only reason he was still alive was because his body was stronger than the average 13 year old due to the black blood he took. But he hadn't completely digested it so he could still die here.
The boulder jeered, "Is that it? Boy!"
Azrael's mask tilted. Behind it, his eyes were bloodshot. His mind echoing, If he fall here, everything ends. All the pain, all the struggle, wasted. He hasn't even began to enjoy his life.
He reached into space. A faint rattle of links answered his call. From the gauntlet, a chain spilled forth, dark as night, At the end, was a fang shaped blade. The crowd hushed.
Azrael rose again, chain sliding across the stone floor. The rest of it wrapped around his hand. His voice, calm and sharp, cut through the noise. "You'll be the first person I kill."
The chain lashed out, wrapping around Boulder's wrist. With a sharp tug, Azrael pushed him off balance leaving his defence open, he darted in, gauntlet hammering into his face. Then he retreated, the chain already coiling back. Cheers and shouts filled the pit.
Again and again, the chain struck breaking Boulder's rhythm. Azrael moved with it, striking and retreating, never staying in reach. The boy who had been outmatched moments ago was now dictating the fight.
But Boulder was no novice. With a roar, he slammed both fists into the ground. Stone spikes erupted upward, forcing Azrael to leap aside. A rock-coated fist grazed his chest, sending him spinning.
Pain blurred his vision, but the chain never left his grip. Boulder charged. As the chain shot low, coiling around the man's leg. The giant tried to stomp free but Azrael yanked the chain with all his strength.
Boulder crashed to the ground, dust exploding around him. Azrael pulled the man closer with the chain wrapped around his leg. In one swift, brutal motion, the claws on his gauntlet drove into Boulder's chest. Tearing through bone and flesh.
The giant's body jerked once, then stilled. The crowd erupted.
But Azrael didn't stop. His fists rose and fell, again and again, each strike harsher than the last. Smashing his face till it became a pulp. The frenzy consumed him, gauntlets tearing until there was nothing left to resist.
"Crimson! Crimson! Crimson!" The chant rolled like thunder.
Azrael swayed, chest heaving, sweat mixed with blood dripping from his body. He barely saw the ring, barely heard the roar of the pit. His vision pulsed red, his heart thundering.
It was only when Liyana broke into the ring, no one stopped her since the match was over, and seized his arm.
"Az! Enough!"
Then his body sagged, strength draining from his limbs. He collapsed in her arms, unconscious, as the crowd's chant shook the walls of the underground arena.