The next day, Lucius arrived at the arena viewing section just before 1 PM.
The facility had a different energy today. Round one was almost complete—only two fights remaining. The survivors were becoming apparent, the brackets narrowing. Fighters who'd made it this far were studying each other with increased intensity, calculating potential matchups for round two.
Lucius found Seung in his usual spot, already scrolling through betting statistics on his tablet.
"King!" Seung greeted him with more enthusiasm than usual. "Finally, a fight worth watching. Adam Mavrick versus Lee Son Yu. This should be good."
Lucius sat down without responding, his attention already shifting to the arena floor below. Medical personnel were finishing their final checks, maintenance crews making last-minute adjustments to the barriers.
"Lee Son Yu is supposedly some kind of terrorist," Seung continued, reading from his tablet. "Multiple international warrants. Pyrokinetic abilities, enhanced combat training. Odds are still heavily favoring Adam, but Lee's got a reputation for being slippery—some kind of teleportation ability, short-range."
"Displacement," Lucius corrected quietly.
"Right, displacement. Whatever." Seung leaned forward. "Adam's won this tournament three years running. Field Commander for the Big Boys. You think Lee has any chance at all?"
"No."
Seung chuckled. "That confident, huh? Well, I'm betting on Adam anyway. The payout's terrible, but a win's a win."
Lucius's attention drifted upward, his senses extending throughout the viewing section. The usual crowd was present—fighters, guards, betting personnel. But there was something else. Someone else.
That presence, He felt before.
Lucius didn't turn to look. Didn't search the crowd. He simply noted it and filed the information away.
Whoever it was had taken an interest in him. And that interest was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore.
The viewing screens updated:
FIGHT 15 - ROUND ONE
LEE SON YU VS ADAM MAVRICK
The lights dimmed slightly. The crowd's volume increased.
The medical clearance entrance opened, and Lee Son Yu emerged first.
He was lean and compact, maybe five-foot-nine, with the build of someone who relied on speed and precision rather than raw power. Korean features, sharp and focused. His black hair was cut military-short. He wore form-fitting tactical gear—dark pants and a sleeveless compression shirt that showed heavily scarred arms. His hands were wrapped in combat tape.
His expression was cold, calculating. The look of someone who'd killed before and would do it again without hesitation.
He moved to his position with controlled energy, bouncing slightly on his feet, keeping his muscles warm and ready.
The opposite entrance opened, and Adam Mavrick appeared.
The difference was immediate and striking.
Adam stood six-foot-two, with a powerful build that suggested both strength and speed. His skin was tanned, weathered from years of combat. His dark hair was buzzed close to his scalp. His face was hard, all sharp angles and controlled aggression. His eyes were dark and flat—the eyes of someone who'd seen too much violence to be affected by it anymore.
He wore simple black combat pants and a dark gray tank top that revealed heavily muscled arms covered in scars—some from blades, some from burns, some from things less easily identified. His hands were bare, no tape or wrapping.
He moved with absolute confidence. Not arrogance—just the certainty of someone who knew exactly what he was capable of and had no reason to doubt it.
When he reached his position, he simply stopped and stood there. Arms crossed over his chest. Perfectly still. Waiting.
"Adam looks ready to end this quick," Seung muttered. "Lee better have a good strategy."
Jamal's voice boomed through the speakers. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is it! Fight Fifteen of Round One! Lee Son Yu, the international fugitive with a body count in the quadruple digits, versus Adam Mavrick, our three-time defending champion!"
Haurang provided analysis. "Adam Mavrick needs no introduction to regular tournament attendees. Field Commander rank within his organization, multiple ability user, undefeated record in tournament competition. Lee Son Yu brings considerable combat experience and versatile abilities, but he faces a significant challenge here."
The betting window opened. Seung placed his bet immediately—Adam, as expected.
The odds were heavily skewed:
ADAM MAVRICK - 98%
LEE SON YU - 2%
The countdown began. The crowd's noise built to a crescendo.
"FIGHT!"
Lee moved instantly.
His body blurred, displacement ability activating immediately. He vanished from his starting position and reappeared mid-sprint, closing the distance to Adam with explosive speed. His strategy was obvious—blitz the opponent before they could set up defenses, overwhelm with speed and aggression.
It was a sound tactic. Against most opponents, it would have worked.
Adam didn't move. Didn't even flinch. Just stood there with his arms crossed, watching Lee's approach with those flat, emotionless eyes.
Lee's hands ignited. The flames wrapped around his fists, turning them into blazing weapons.
He displaced again, vanishing and reappearing behind Adam, already throwing a fire-enhanced punch at the back of Adam's skull.
Adam's right arm uncrossed and shot out behind him without even turning his head.
His hand closed around Lee's entire face.
The movement was so fast, so precise, that Lee didn't even have time to displace again. One moment he was mid-attack, the next his face was completely engulfed by Adam's massive hand, his flames extinguishing instantly.
Adam began to walk forward. Slowly. Deliberately. Dragging Lee with him toward the nearest barrier wall.
Lee's muffled screams were barely audible. His hands came up, clawing at Adam's arm, trying to break the grip. He threw punches—desperate, wild strikes that connected with Adam's ribs, his shoulder, his back.
Nothing.
The punches left small tears in Adam's shirt, minor scratches on his skin, but no real damage. It was like hitting reinforced steel.
"You know something people tend to misunderstand about NovaBreeds," Haurang said, his voice carrying over the crowd's noise. "Many assume all NovaBreeds are simply born stronger, faster, more durable than regular humans. But that's not accurate. Genetic Bound NovaBreeds—those whose abilities are inheritable and non-unique—they have a different advantage."
He paused as Adam continued his slow, inexorable walk toward the wall, Lee's struggles becoming more frantic.
"Regular humans have limits. No matter how much they train, there's a ceiling to their physical capabilities determined by biology. But Genetic Bound NovaBreeds? Their ceiling is significantly higher. Not unlimited, but far beyond what normal humans can achieve. With enough training, enough effort, they can develop strength, speed, and durability that seem superhuman."
Adam reached the barrier wall.
"Of course," Haurang continued, "the amount of effort required increases exponentially. The stronger you become, the harder it is to grow stronger still. And there is still an upper limit. But fighters like Adam Mavrick have trained for decades. They've pushed themselves to levels that most people will never reach."
Adam pressed Lee's head against the barrier wall.
Then he began to squeeze.
Slowly.
Lee's muffled screams turned to gurgles. His hands beat frantically against Adam's arm, his legs kicking uselessly. He tried to displace, but Adam's grip disrupted his concentration, made it impossible to focus enough to activate the ability.
Adam's expression never changed. No anger, no satisfaction, no emotion at all. He could have been doing paperwork for all the reaction he showed.
The pressure increased. Lee's skull began to deform, his screams cutting off as his jaw broke.
CRACK.
The sound echoed across the arena.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
Lee's skull fractured in multiple places, the bones giving way under the relentless pressure.
Then—
POP.
Lee's head burst like an overripe fruit. Blood and brain matter exploded across the barrier wall in a wide spray pattern, coating the energy field in red.
Adam released what remained and stepped back. Lee's headless body collapsed to the sand, blood pooling rapidly around it.
The fight had lasted less than forty seconds.
Adam turned and began walking toward the exit, his expression still completely neutral. Blood dripped from his right hand, leaving a trail in the sand.
Then he stopped.
Turned back.
His eyes swept across the viewing section—and locked directly onto Lucius.
Not in Lucius's general direction. Not at the section as a whole. Directly. At. Him.
The eye contact lasted only a second, maybe two. But in that moment, Lucius felt it. The weight of that gaze. The awareness behind it.
Adam knew. Somehow, he knew Lucius had been studying him. Knew he was being observed and analyzed. Whether it was instinct, experience, or something else, Adam Mavrick was aware that someone in that crowd was more than just a spectator.
Then Adam turned back and walked out of the arena, disappearing through the exit without another glance.
"Winner: ADAM MAVRICK!" Jamal's voice finally broke the stunned silence. "Forty seconds! That might be a tournament record for shortest fight! Adam Mavrick showing exactly why he's won this thing three years running!"
The crowd's reaction was muted. What they'd just witnessed wasn't a fight. It was an execution. Clinical, efficient, utterly one-sided.
Seung let out a breath he'd been holding. "Well. That was... decisive."
Lucius stood.
"Wait, where are you going?" Seung asked. "There's still one more fight today. Tim Young versus Yan Dawo. Fight Sixteen. You staying to bet?"
"No."
"Come on, at least watch it. Round one's almost done. Don't you want to see how it ends?"
"Not interested." Lucius moved toward the exit.
"What about your next fight? Round two brackets will be announced tomorrow probably. You should at least—"
"Tomorrow."
Lucius left the viewing section, his mind already processing what he'd witnessed.
Adam Mavrick was dangerous. Extremely dangerous. The speed, the strength, the complete lack of hesitation—all of it pointed to someone operating at a level far above most fighters in this tournament. And that moment of eye contact confirmed something Lucius had suspected: Adam wasn't just strong, he was aware. Perceptive. The kind of opponent who would notice details others missed.
If they ended up facing each other adam could prove to be an issue.
But that was a problem for later.
Right now, Lucius had different priorities.
He made his way through the facility's corridors, his route taking him past the fighter quarters, through common areas, near guard stations. His movements appeared casual, aimless—just a fighter walking off the tension of watching a brutal match.
But his senses were active, tracking, observing.
Morrison. The guard. The potential source of information about the executive areas.
Lucius had been watching Morrison's patterns for days now. Shift schedules, patrol routes, break times, behavioral patterns. The man was consistent, professional, but there were moments when he was alone, when an approach might seem natural rather than suspicious.
Lucius passed a guard station where Morrison was currently posted, not even glancing in that direction. Just walking by, noting the time, the location, what Morrison was doing.
Creating the right scenario required patience. Timing. A situation where contact would seem organic, coincidental, natural.
Approaching directly would raise suspicion. Guards were trained to notice when someone was specifically seeking them out. But an accidental encounter? A casual conversation that happened to lead somewhere useful? That could work.
Lucius continued his circuit through the facility, mapping Morrison's likely movements over the next few hours, identifying potential intersection points.
By the time Fight 16 ended—he could hear the crowd's distant reaction through the walls—Lucius had identified three possible scenarios. Three moments over the next two days where he could initiate contact without raising red flags.
He returned to his quarters and sat on his bed, eyes closed, running through the possibilities.
Phase two was beginning. Find the boy. Gather intelligence about the executive areas. Locate where the child was being held.
Morrison was the key to that. A guard with access to restricted sections. Someone who could provide information, even unknowingly, that would point Lucius in the right direction.
Tomorrow, the round two brackets would be announced. Odd would be recovered enough to begin training. And Lucius would make his first move toward Morrison.
Everything was proceeding according to plan.
Almost.
That presence during Adam's fight. That watching, orchestrating presence Lucius had felt too many times to ignore.
Whoever it was, they were paying attention. And that introduced variables Lucius couldn't fully control.
He'd need to be careful. More careful than usual.
But for now, he'd wait. Watch. Prepare.
The Underground was a maze of dangers, but Lucius had navigated worse.
He just needed to stay focused on the mission.
Everything else was noise.
---
TO BE CONTINUED