The arena lights blazed to life.
Lucius sat in the upper rows, back against concrete, eyes scanning the transformation below. What had been a sparse briefing room yesterday now pulsed with energy. The seating sections filled rapidly—easily two hundred people, maybe more. Executives in expensive suits clustered in premium sections near the commentator booth. Guards lined every entrance, rifles ready. Some faces Lucius recognized from intelligence files—corporate representatives, crime syndicate leadership, government officials with plausible deniability. Others were shadow figures, literally—faces obscured by masks or hoods, identities protected by money and power.
The arena floor gleamed under harsh lights. Six pillars ringed the fighting area, their tops humming with electromagnetic energy. The barrier generators.
Above it all, the Jumbotron flickered to life.
Jamal's voice exploded through the speakers: "WELCOME, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!"
The crowd roared.
"It is FINALLY time to commence the twentieth annual Underground Tournament!"
More cheering. Executives raised glasses. Guards remained stone-faced.
Haurang's calmer voice cut through: "The first match of the tournament officially begins now. Our opening fighters will set the tone for what promises to be an unforgettable competition."
The Jumbotron displayed two images side by side—fighter profiles like professional MMA broadcasts. On the left: William Walker. Six foot three, 198 pounds, lean athletic build. The photo showed a man with hard eyes and the posture of someone who'd lost everything and had nothing left to lose. On the right: Xu Leo Kim. Five foot eight, 165 pounds, compact and dangerous. His expression was calm, almost serene.
Yesterday, all fighters had been required to report for profile photography. Standard procedure. Make them look professional for the entertainment.
The crowd's energy shifted—anticipation crackling through the air like static electricity.
Lucius studied the audience more than the arena. More executives than he'd expected. Not all were obvious crime lords or corporate monsters. Some looked like accountants, lawyers, middle management types who'd stumbled into blood money and discovered they liked the taste. Representatives from organizations trying to prove themselves to the Big Boys. Unknowns with deep pockets and darker appetites.
And some—maybe a dozen—were complete shadows. Hooded figures in private boxes, identities completely obscured.
But there was something else. Something his senses caught that his eyes couldn't see.
Above the premium seating sections, built into the arena's upper structure, was what appeared to be solid wall. But Lucius felt it—the water content in the air shifted there differently. Bodies. Multiple bodies in a space that shouldn't exist from the outside.
One-way glass. A completely hidden VIP section.
He couldn't see them, but they could see everything. The real power, watching from complete anonymity.
Movement at the fighter entrance.
Blue lights illuminated the tunnel.
"In the blue corner!" Jamal's voice boomed. "Standing at a staggering six feet three inches, weighing one hundred ninety-eight pounds, with explosive speed and a hunger for redemption—WILLIAM WALKER!"
Walker emerged from the tunnel like a man walking to his execution or his coronation—hard to tell which. He wore simple athletic shorts and tape on his hands. No shirt. Every muscle defined. His eyes swept the arena once, cataloguing threats, then fixed forward.
The crowd gave a respectful noise—not quite a cheer, more like acknowledgment of a predator entering the space.
Walker stepped into the ring, rolled his shoulders, stretched his neck. Professional warm-up routine. This wasn't his first arena.
Red lights replaced blue at the entrance.
"And in the red corner!" Jamal continued. "Standing at five feet eight inches, weighing one hundred sixty-five pounds, with the spirit of the wolf and the calm of a warrior—XU LEO KIM!"
Kim's entrance was different. Slower. Deliberate. He walked with hands clasped behind his back, posture perfectly straight. His eyes never left Walker. No theatrics, no crowd acknowledgment. Just focus.
He stepped into the ring, took his position, and waited.
"Now!" Haurang's voice cut through the anticipation. "Before we begin, there are rules that must be addressed."
The Jumbotron switched to display text as Haurang spoke: "First—you only win when your opponent yields, loses consciousness, or dies."
Lucius watched the executives. Some leaned forward. Others sipped drinks, bored by the formality.
"Second—there will be no use of external weapons. However, you are free to utilize any abilities you possess, so long as they do not affect the audience or damage the facility beyond the designated combat zone."
"Third—" Jamal took over, enthusiasm returning. "As you can see, six pylons surround the arena. Those are EMD barrier generators. Unless your abilities are strong enough to break through a military-grade containment field, neither fighters nor attacks are getting past that barrier. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the show without worrying about collateral damage!"
The crowd chuckled. Some applauded.
"And finally—" Haurang's tone became more serious. "All executives, if you would kindly look beneath your seats."
Rustling throughout the executive sections. Hands reaching under seats.
"You'll find betting tablets," Haurang explained. "These devices allow you to place wagers on match outcomes, method of victory, duration, and various other metrics. Betting is exclusively available to executives and authorized guests."
Tablets emerged throughout the crowd. Sleek devices—roughly the size of a large smartphone but thicker, with reinforced corners and a matte black finish that absorbed light. Each had a rectangular slot built into the top edge, roughly the size of a credit card. The screens glowed with a soft blue interface once activated.
Staff members in different uniforms from the armed guards began moving through the executive sections—these wore gray suits with the Big Boys logo embroidered on the breast pocket. They carried small cases and moved with practiced efficiency.
"To access your tablet," Haurang continued, "you'll need to insert your executive credential card into the slot at the top of the device. Staff are moving through the sections now to distribute cards to any guests who don't already have them."
Lucius watched as executives pulled cards from wallets and inner jacket pockets. The cards looked like high-end corporate ID badges—glossy black with embedded chips, hanging from lanyards some executives wore around their necks. Those without cards received them from the gray-suited staff, who checked names against lists on their own tablets.
An executive three rows ahead of Lucius inserted his card into the slot. The tablet's screen flashed, then displayed a personalized interface with the executive's name and betting balance in the corner.
"Your card authenticates your identity and links to your secured betting account," Haurang explained. "All transactions are encrypted and processed through the Big Boys financial network. Place your bets before the match begins—once the fighters start, betting closes."
A hand rose in the fighter section—not far from Lucius's position.
Jamal caught it. "Looks like we have a question from the audience!"
The fighter stood—Odd. Of course it was Odd.
"Yeah, hi." Odd's voice carried easily. "I noticed only certain people got those betting tablets. Why's that?"
"Excellent question!" Jamal responded. "The betting tablets are exclusively for executives and authorized guests. It's simply how the tournament operates. Think of it as a perk of sponsorship."
"Right, but—" Odd pressed. "There isn't any way for a fighter to get one? You know, make some side cash while we're risking our necks?"
"Unfortunately, no." Haurang's tone was diplomatic but firm. "The system requires executive credentials that fighters don't possess. Even if you had a tablet, you couldn't access the betting network without the proper clearance card."
Odd shrugged, sitting back down. "Alright, understood. Would've liked to make some side cash, though."
The crowd laughed—some genuine, some condescending.
"Any other questions?" Jamal asked.
Silence.
A few executives shouted things—jokes, insults toward fighters, encouragement to get on with it.
"Alright then!" Jamal's energy peaked. "All executives, you have one minute to finalize your bets. After that, betting closes and we BEGIN!"
The arena filled with noise—executives conferring, tablets clicking, cards being inserted and removed. The Jumbotron displayed live betting percentages:
WILLIAM WALKER: 73%
XU LEO KIM: 27%
Side bets scrolled beneath:
- First blood: 89% YES
- Method of victory: 62% KNOCKOUT
- Duration: 54% UNDER 5 MINUTES
Lucius watched one executive in particular—older man, expensive suit, third row center. He'd pulled out his credential card, stared at the tablet for a long moment, then put the card back in his pocket without inserting it. The tablet's screen remained dark. His expression was sour, frustrated.
Lost money in previous tournaments? Or just second-guessing himself?
Worth noting.
Sixty seconds passed quickly.
"Betting is now CLOSED!" Jamal announced. "Executives, please keep your tablets with you—you may need them during the match!"
Lucius's eyes narrowed slightly. May need them during the match?
Interesting.
"And now—" Jamal let the pause build. "WITHOUT FURTHER ADO—LET THE FIRST MATCH OF THE TWENTIETH ANNUAL UNDERGROUND TOURNAMENT BEGIN!"
The crowd exploded.
In the ring, Walker dropped into a combat stance—weight on his toes, hands up, ready to move.
Kim remained still, hands behind his back, posture unchanged.
"Both contestants seem absolutely focused!" Jamal narrated. "Walker with that aggressive stance, Kim with that eerily calm presence. I wonder who's gonna make the first move?"
For three seconds, neither moved.
Then—
Walker exploded forward, closing the distance in a blur. His speed was absurd—tier three minimum, maybe pushing four. Sand kicked up behind him.
"AND THERE HE GOES!" Jamal's voice climbed. "Walker making the first move with that legendary speed!"
Walker closed on Kim's left side, leg already rotating for a devastating roundhouse kick aimed at Kim's ribs.
Kim's arm snapped up—forearm block, textbook form. The impact sounded like a baseball bat hitting a side of beef.
The force sent Kim sliding several feet across the sand, but his stance held. His feet carved trenches as he absorbed and redirected the momentum.
Walker pressed forward immediately. His fist drove toward Kim's lower abdomen—a liver shot designed to end fights.
Kim rotated his torso, minimal movement. The punch whistled past his side.
Kim's hand chopped toward Walker's neck—precise, controlled, targeting the carotid.
Connection.
Walker's head snapped to the side. His eyes lost focus for half a second.
Kim followed immediately—spinning on his planted foot, other leg whipping around for a hook kick.
His foot connected with Walker's jaw. The sound echoed through the arena.
Walker stumbled back, disoriented.
Kim pressed forward, leg sweeping low toward the back of Walker's knee—textbook trip attempt.
But Walker recovered quickly. He shifted his weight, lifting his leg to avoid the sweep, then brought it down in a stomping attack aimed at Kim.
Kim rolled backward away from the stomp. Walker's foot cratered the ground where Kim had been a moment before.
"Beautiful evasion from Kim!" Haurang analyzed. "He's using Walker's aggression against him, staying just out of range."
Walker charged again. As he closed distance, he leaped high—both fists raised overhead for a devastating downward strike.
Kim's stance shifted. His left leg stretched forward, right leg bent back. Ready.
And then—light.
A pale blue aura erupted from Kim's body, shimmering like heat distortion. The energy coalesced into forms—two wolves, spectral and snarling, made of that same blue light.
"THERE IT IS!" Jamal roared. "Kim's signature ability—wolf spirit manifestation!"
Both wolves leaped upward toward the descending Walker. The first headbutted him in the stomach with tremendous force. The second clamped jaws around his shoulder, wrenching him to the side.
Walker's trajectory changed violently. He crashed into the sand at an awkward angle. Hard.
Dust exploded outward, obscuring vision.
The wolves returned to Kim's sides, circling him protectively. Their forms flickered—not quite solid, not quite energy. Something in between.
The dust settled.
Walker pushed himself up, sand coating his back. Blood trickled from his shoulder where the wolf had bitten. His expression had changed—no longer confident, now calculating.
"Walker's back on his feet!" Jamal continued. "But he's tasted what Kim can do now!"
Kim advanced, wolves flanking him—Kim in the center, wolves on either side moving in formation.
Walker set his stance, watching carefully.
As they closed distance, one of Kim's wolves suddenly surged forward while Kim moved to Walker's blind side.
Walker threw a punch at the wolf—his fist passed through it like smoke. The form dissipated into blue mist.
The second wolf lunged low, jaws clamping on Walker's calf.
Walker moved to defend, but Kim was already there—brutal body shot to the ribs, all his weight behind it.
Impact.
But the blow didn't sink in like it should have. Walker's torso had hardened—one of his abilities. Genetic bound physical enhancement.
Kim's eyes widened slightly. Surprise.
Walker's hand shot toward Kim's face in a grabbing motion.
The dissipated wolf reformed instantly, jaws clamping on Walker's wrist and pulling it away.
Kim disengaged, creating distance.
Walker stomped the ground hard—BOOM. Sand exploded upward in a blinding cloud.
"Tactical move from Walker!" Haurang noted. "Creating visual cover!"
Kim immediately called his wolves back. Both forms flowed together, merging into a single larger wolf as the dust obscured his vision.
Then—
The Jumbotron emitted a distinctive chime.
Both fighters paused, eyes flicking upward instinctively.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" Jamal's voice carried new excitement. "It's time to introduce a special element to this year's tournament!"
The Jumbotron displayed a large circular arrow—like a refresh symbol—spinning slowly.
"At random points during matches," Haurang explained, "the arena will determine if an item deployment occurs. Let's see what fate decides!"
The spinning arrow accelerated, becoming a blur. The crowd leaned forward.
Then it began to slow.
Slower.
Slower.
It stopped on a green checkmark symbol.
"DEPLOYMENT ACTIVATED!" Jamal screamed.
Throughout the executive sections, the betting tablets buzzed simultaneously. Screens lit up with new information.
"When deployment is triggered," Haurang continued, "executives will receive options on your tablets. You'll have thirty seconds to vote on which item gets dropped. Insert your credential cards if you haven't already, and cast your votes. Majority rules!"
Lucius watched executives scramble. Cards inserted into slots. Screens flashing to life. Fingers tapping rapidly.
On the Jumbotron, six options appeared in a grid:
1. METAL PIPE
2. COMBAT KNIFE
3. [?]
4. SMOKE GRENADE
5. BASEBALL BAT
6. GLOCK 19
The mystery option sat there, unmarked. A gamble even for those with power.
"Thirty seconds to vote, executives!" Jamal announced. "Choose wisely—your selection could determine the outcome!"
In the arena, both fighters had noticed the screens. Walker's eyes tracked the options. Kim reformed both wolves, ready for whatever came.
The executives voted frantically. Some shouted to each other, coordinating. Others voted alone, trying to game the system.
A timer appeared on the Jumbotron, counting down in large red numbers.
:30
:29
:28
The tension built with each passing second.
:15
:14
:13
Some executives changed their votes at the last moment.
:05
:04
:03
Final button presses.
:01
"VOTING CLOSED!" Jamal announced.
The Jumbotron displayed the results in real-time:
GLOCK 19 - 43%
BASEBALL BAT - 22%
[?] - 15%
METAL PIPE - 11%
COMBAT KNIFE - 6%
SMOKE GRENADE - 3%
"And the winning selection is—" Haurang let it hang for dramatic effect. "A GLOCK 19 HANDGUN with one full magazine!"
The crowd erupted in mixed reactions. Some cheered, others groaned.
"Dropping now from the Jumbotron!" Jamal added.
A mechanical whir from above. The Jumbotron's center panel opened. Something fell—
The Glock tumbled through the air, spinning end over end, reflecting arena lights.
It landed in the sand roughly equidistant between both fighters.
"WHO'S GONNA GET IT?!" Jamal screamed.
Kim's wolves immediately positioned between him and Walker, expecting Walker to rush for the weapon.
Walker did run—but not directly at the gun.
He angled his approach, building speed as he circled. His trajectory brought him past the gun's position at an angle.
"What's Walker doing?!" Haurang questioned.
As Walker reached the gun's position, his leg cocked back. Instead of bending down to grab it—
He kicked it.
Full force. Enhanced strength and speed behind the strike.
The Glock launched like a missile—spinning violently, trajectory aimed directly at Kim's position.
"OH MY GOD!" Jamal lost all composure. "WALKER WEAPONIZED THE DROP!"
Kim's wolves tried to intercept—both lunged into the gun's path. But their semi-solid forms couldn't stop physical matter. The gun passed through them.
The Glock struck Kim in the forehead.
Grip-first. Full velocity.
CRACK.
Kim's head snapped back. Blood exploded from the impact point, immediately streaming down his face, filling his eyes, obscuring his vision.
He stumbled but stayed on his feet through pure instinct. His wolves reformed protectively, but Kim couldn't see through the blood.
He looked left, right, trying to track Walker's position by sound.
Walker had already closed the distance during Kim's disorientation.
He dropped low and drove both palms into the sand with enhanced strength.
BOOM.
The shockwave rippled outward through the ground. Kim and both wolves were launched upward by the force, tumbling through the air.
As Kim fell back toward earth, disoriented and blind, Walker was already moving.
Walker jumped, timing it perfectly. His leg extended—spinning kick with his full body weight rotating behind it.
Connection.
Kim's stomach caved inward from the impact. Blood sprayed from his mouth.
The force sent Kim flying horizontally across the arena.
Walker landed, then immediately launched himself forward again, matching Kim's trajectory.
Kim was still airborne when Walker reached him.
Another spinning kick—this one leveraging his momentum and enhanced strength.
The impact changed Kim's direction completely. He plummeted straight down.
Kim hit the sand face-first. The impact was brutal—his body hit hard enough to bounce slightly before settling, motionless.
Walker landed nearby on his feet. He approached slowly, limping slightly from his own injuries.
Stood over Kim's unconscious form.
Looked down.
The crowd held its breath.
Walker stared for three seconds. His hand twitched—muscle memory suggesting he could end it.
Then he turned away, walking toward his corner.
The decision was made.
"WINNER—WILLIAM WALKER!" Jamal's announcement shattered the tension.
The crowd exploded—cheering, shouting, executives jumping to their feet. Some looked ecstatic, checking their tablets for winnings. Others grimaced at losses.
The gray-suited staff immediately moved through the executive sections again. They carried the same secure cases from earlier, now collecting the betting tablets.
"All executives, please remove your credential cards and return your tablets to the staff," Haurang announced. "Your winnings will be processed and available for the next match."
Executives pulled their cards from the slots. The tablets' screens went dark. Staff members moved efficiently, collecting devices and placing them in the secured cases.
Lucius watched the older executive again. The man hadn't even activated his tablet—his card had stayed in his pocket the entire match. Now his expression was pure frustration as he watched others around him celebrate their winnings. His jaw clenched as he handed back the unused tablet.
Medical personnel rushed from the fighter entrance toward Kim's motionless form, loading him onto a stretcher.
Lucius studied Walker as he exited the arena. Enhanced speed, strength, body hardening. Tier four solid. Smart tactical thinking—that gun kick proved he could adapt and innovate under pressure.
Kim's wolf spirits were genetic bound, good control, creative applications. But ultimately limited when his physical body was compromised.
In the commentator booth, Jamal was still hyped. "Haurang, did you SEE that?! That gun kick was absolutely genius!"
"Unconventional tactics win fights," Haurang agreed. "Walker demonstrated excellent spatial awareness and improvisation. First match of the tournament and we've already witnessed something memorable."
"You're goddamn right! This was the FIRST fight and we're already seeing some real shit! Can't wait for the rest!"
"Too bad Walker decided to spare Kim, though," Haurang added. "Would've been a more definitive statement."
"True, true. But hey, there's plenty more fights to come! And that wraps it up for the first battle, folks! Hope you had a wonderful time, and for those of you who voted for the Glock and bet on Walker—congratulations on your winnings!"
"This is Haurang—"
"And this is Jamal!"
"—signing off. The next fight starts in two hours. Chen Xiao versus Liu Yan. Don't miss it!"
"Oh, and could someone get Kim to the medical bay, please?" Haurang added.
"Yeah, get that loser out of here!" Jamal's laugh echoed as their mics cut.
The crowd began dispersing—some staying for the next fight, others heading toward refreshment areas or lounges in the Entertainment District.
Lucius remained seated for a few more minutes, watching the flow of people. The frustrated executive stood and pushed past others in his row, heading toward the exit corridors. His body language screamed regret.
Lucius committed his face to memory, tracked which exit he took, then stood slowly.
He headed not toward that exit, but toward the one that led back to fighter quarters and the mess hall.
Time to think through the approach. Can't rush this.
---
The hallway back to fighter quarters was emptier now. Most fighters were either still in the arena watching or had returned to their rooms. Lucius walked with his hands in his jacket pockets, mind working through variables.
The betting tablet system was more secure than he'd initially thought. Credential cards with authentication, probably biometric data embedded, linked to individual accounts. He couldn't just steal a tablet—it would be useless without the card. And he couldn't just steal a card without raising immediate flags.
He needed someone to willingly give him access. Someone desperate enough, frustrated enough, or greedy enough to take the risk.
The older executive fit that profile. Missed a winning bet, clearly angry about it. Probably had a history of bad gambling decisions based on his reaction.
But approaching an executive directly was dangerous. Too many variables, too much security around them.
He'd need to—
"Hey! King!"
Lucius turned. Odd was jogging to catch up, that same easy smile on his face.
"Heading to the mess hall?" Odd asked as he fell into step beside Lucius.
"Yeah."
"Mind if I join you? Figure we're both gonna be fighting in this thing, might as well not eat alone every time."
Lucius shrugged. "Free country."
Odd laughed. "Barely. You see that first fight?"
"Yeah."
"That Walker guy is no joke. And that gun kick—" Odd shook his head appreciatively. "Man's got creativity. You don't see that kind of thinking often in these tournaments."
"You been to tournaments before?" Lucius asked, genuinely curious.
"Me? Nah, first timer. But I heard stories from guys who survived previous years. Most fighters just rush in with their powers blazing, no real strategy." Odd glanced at Lucius. "What about you? First time down here?"
"Yeah."
"Figured. Most of us are new blood. The tournament's got a pretty high mortality rate—lot of the returners from previous years are either dead, crippled, or smart enough not to come back." Odd's tone was matter-of-fact, no fear in it. "Makes you wonder what that says about us, huh?"
They walked in silence for a moment.
"That betting thing is interesting though," Odd continued. "Executives voting on what gets dropped. Adds a whole other level to the fights. Can't just plan for your opponent—gotta account for random bullshit falling from the sky."
"Makes it harder to strategize," Lucius agreed.
"Yeah, but also makes it more interesting to watch. Which is the point, I guess. We're the entertainment." Odd's voice carried no bitterness, just acceptance. "Speaking of which—you think there's any way for a fighter to get their hands on one of those betting tablets? You know, hypothetically?"
Lucius glanced at him. "Why?"
"Just thinking. If you could access the betting system, you could make some serious money. Not just from winning fights, but from betting on yourself." Odd shrugged. "Not that I'd know how to even start figuring that out. But a guy can dream, right?"
Lucius filed that away. Odd was thinking along similar lines—not surprising for someone who needed money desperately.
"Hypothetically," Lucius said carefully, "you'd need an executive's credential card. Without that, the tablet's just a fancy paperweight."
"Right, right. The card." Odd nodded slowly. "So you'd need to convince an executive to let you use their card. Which seems—"
"Impossible if you approach it directly," Lucius finished.
"Yeah." Odd laughed. "Well, it was a nice thought. Guess I'll just have to win fights the old-fashioned way."
They reached the mess hall entrance. The smell of mediocre food wafted out.
"After you," Odd gestured.
Lucius entered, Odd following behind.
The mess hall was more crowded now—fighters who'd watched the first match coming in for food before the next one. Big Mama presided over the serving line like always, her eyes tracking everyone who entered.
Lucius and Odd grabbed trays and joined the line.
"You know," Odd said quietly as they waited, "if you ever figure out that tablet thing—the hypothetical one—I'd be interested in hearing about it. Not to pressure you or anything. Just saying."
Lucius met his eyes. Odd's expression was open, honest. No hidden agenda, just a man looking for any advantage he could find.
"I'll keep that in mind," Lucius said.
They reached the counter. Big Mama looked at them both, then smiled.
"Look at this—boys making friends already. That's nice to see." She loaded their plates generously. "You two take care of each other down here. Lord knows nobody else will."
"Yes, ma'am," Odd said with genuine warmth.
Lucius nodded his thanks.
They found a table away from the larger groups. As they ate, Odd kept the conversation light—observations about other fighters, speculation about upcoming matches, occasional dad jokes that actually made Lucius's mouth twitch despite himself.
But in the back of his mind, Lucius was already planning.
The frustrated executive. The betting tablets. The credential cards.
He'd make his move soon.
But first, he'd need to finalize the approach.
TO BE CONTINUED