The forge had been running hot for a few days. Obi stood in the middle of heat, sleeves rolled, curls damp with sweat, lightly adjusting his brass knuckles.
"Easy, handsome!" he told the weapons, as if they were alive. "We're going to meet a lot of new faces tonight. Try not to rearrange all of them."
Sparks burned his forearms. He hissed, grinned and kept hammering anyway.
He decided to be a bit more gentle, so he removes the spikes from his knuckles. (He was just too confident he won't need them)
"Flattering" he told the steel. "You make me look dangerous."
Out in the streets, a young man ran by, breathless:
"Pot doubled! Pot doubled!" The shout echoed off streets and kept going around corners.
Obi's eyebrows liftrd. "Huh" he told himself. "So they weren't lying."
He glanced at the knuckles again, then at the sign he put up for quite some time now:
SCRAPPER'S GAUNTLET - NO RULES. WINNER TAKES IT ALL.
"Cute advice" he muttered. "Not ominous at all."
He shut down the forge, packed some chalk, wraps, and the knuckles into a little leather pouch.
Then, flipped his sign to Closed, and stepped into the streets.
As he went, he passed Takeshi's place - empty, now.
"Still grinding, huh?" He imagined Raizen and Hikari training in the strange "Rust Room" they told him about.
---
The registration booth for the Gauntlet was now in front of Obi. The man behind the mesh barely lifted his eyes.
"Name?" he asked.
"Obi..." He said brightly. Then added "The Loud, why not?"
"Weight?"
"Charming." Obi let out his same mischievous grin.
The man sighed. "You want in or you want to flirt?"
"Buddy, I can do both." Obi leaned in, grin quick. "Let's call my weight… Middle. Artistically proportioned."
The clerk scratched something. "Rules? You know them?"
"I read the poster" Obi said. "Quite inexistent..."
"Good. Try not to lose some teeth" The clerk slid him a token stamped with a fist. " Warm-up over there." He gestured with his chin. "And another thing - if you want some kind of medical support, they fully charge you"
"Guess I'll have to win, then." Obi flicked the token into the air, caught it, and ran off.
---
Across the Underworks, the Rust Room sang in the same clean tones. Raizen and Hikari mirrored Kori's stance - hands high, elbows in, feet set on a narrow strip of tape.
"Don't hunch like that!" Kori shouted, tapping Raizen's shoulder. "Shortest line, fastest line for your hits."
Raizen tried again. Jab - snap, not shove. Kori nodded once.
"Better. Again, ten more."
Hikari's strikes were quiet, efficient, almost too flawless. Kori's eye narrowed, just a fraction.
Mina's voice drifted through the ceiling mic.
"Raizen's cadence smoothing." Then, softer:
"Her control... Perfect. Very precise."
Between sets, Raizen leaned against a wall
"Kori" he asked, "what happens when people finish here? When they're… Done?"
Kori rolled the stiffness out of her neck.
"Well... Most who make it far get offers. From people you don't meet in bright rooms. Most become assassins. Some even become guards, if they like being someone else's dog."
"And if they hunt Nyxes?" Raizen asked.
"Then they're Gravers." Kori's voice went flat.
"Gravers?" Raizen was confused. He only ever heard of Vanguards...
"The line-holders. They go where weaker Nyxes dwell, swing luminite they barely afford. Nothing fancy. They die too often and get thanked not nearly enough."
"But… what about the really strong ones?" Raizen remembered the strong Nyx back at his village. A normal human couldn't have possibly survived it in a fight.
"Vanguards" Kori answered. "They're the tip of the lance. Trained in Neoshima, at the best place to learn: The Lotus Academy."
She spoke the name like it was a badge of pride. "They've got the best gear, the best training. They go where stuff's real bad. Yet... Still not to many come back unharmed."
Beyond the glass, the two under Kori's wing, Arashi and Keahi, worked in silence. He sat at a long table cluttered with locks of every size, tools clicking as he solved every single one in record time. Others trying too, but every failure buzzed red.
In another room, The girl slammed her fists into a heavy bag. Her bright red hair danced relentless, with the rhythm of her strong hits. It was clear that they were better than the two newcomers, but what was also obvious enough was that they were catching up. Fast.
Kori clapped once, cutting the quiet. "Enough talk. Get back up. If you're going to pick a fight with nightmares, start by hitting straight."
They moved again. She made bad jokes about everything she could, guiding them into better stances.
"Head off the center" she told Raizen, nudging his temple. "Don't expose your neck. Unless you don't need anymore, of course."
Then, laughing at Hikari: "Don't dodge so much! If you're scared of taking a hit, you'll never be able to trade any back."
Then? Everything, again and again. In a loop - but every time faster and better.
---
Fighters crowded the place, wrapping hands, stretching, muttering small slurs towards others.
Obi found a corner, sat, and wrapped his knuckles with the care he usually treats his "wonderful" inventions. He chalked, flexed, slid the brass over the wraps. The weight felt just right.
A tank of a man made his way through the small crowd - shaved scalp beading sweat, scar slicing from his cleft chin to the notch of his throat. His forearms were giant, the kind you only get from lifting heavy stuff for years.
Ink crawled up both arms: broken chain links around the wrists, a crude heart with teeth biting down over his shoulder.
Across his knuckles, letters had been painted black by someone with more enthusiasm than spelling - H-A-I-T.
He caught the gleam of brass on Obi's knuckles.
"That your toys?" he rumbled with a horrible voice.
Obi held the knuckles up to the light. "These? Meant for cracking walnuts. Big walnuts."
The big man snorted. "You'll be spitting walnuts."
"Only if you're made of them" Obi said pleasantly. He squinted at the man's hand. "And buddy, that tattoo - does it spell "hate" or am I behind with words?"
A few nearby fighters barked laughter and pretended they hadn't.
The man's brow lowered, a ledge sliding over his eyes. He stepped in until Obi could smell the smell of old beer.
"You always talk this much?" the brute asked.
"Only when I'm awake" Obi grinned. "You should hear me when I'm winning."
A guard smacked the barred gate with his baton. "Save it for whoever your random opponent is"
Obi lifted both palms, brass winking. "You hear the man, big fella. Maybe fate sits us next - wouldn't want to deprive the crowd."
The tattooed slab leaned close enough for the scar on his chin to catch the lantern light. "Pray it doesn't," he said, and moved on.
Obi let the smile ride a second longer, then whispered to the knuckles, "Please let him spell "asleep" when I'm done."
The corridor ahead glowed gold with torchlight. Beyond the gate, a crowd that came to see something break.
He thought, briefly, of Raizen's too-bright smile, of Hikari's quiet eyes, of Takeshi's map and the way the pins kept multiplying like bad stars. He thought of Louissa's door and the way her voice could warm a room without stepping inside.
Then he pinched the thoughts shut, and smiled like trouble.
A runner jogged down the corridor, breathless. "Obi the Loud versus Morrow the Colossus! Two-minute prep!"
"The Colossus?" Obi repeated, rolling his neck.
"What kind of stick will I be breaking?"
He lifted his fists and let the brass clink.
"Hands where they'll still be hands" he told himself, and almost laughed.
"Gate Two! Obi the Loud!" the same runner shouted. "Ready up!"
The guard next to Obi didn't look at him when he spoke. "When you stop smiling, tuck your chin."
"I will never stop smiling." Obi said. "It's my curse."
"Then duck" The guard said.
Bars rattled. Hot light slid under and up. The smell of sand and wood crept in like a tide.
Obi rolled his shoulders, set his feet, and walked forward until the sand took his weight.
He cracked his neck once.
"If I die, tell granny Louissa I finally made friends."
Then he smiled like he meant to live forever.