—Paris DBL Arena
Fireworks exploded above the massive Paris arena, painting the night sky in chaotic colors that reflected off the glass dome.
The crowd erupted like a living beast, their voices slamming together in one wild roar that shook the atmosphere.
People waved banners, held glowing boards, and screamed fighters' names until their throats burned.
This wasn't just a sports event — it felt like the entire planet decided to lose its mind at once. Even the air vibrated. An event held once in two years.
"Welcome to the Death Boxing League—DBL!" Matt Jury's voice blasted through the speakers, sharp and excited enough to make the crowd scream louder.
"Place your bets on the platform! Bet however you like!!!" His voice carried that signature hype that made every fight feel legendary. You could hear the grin in his tone, the madness in his energy, and the crowd fed off it like fuel.
The DBL arena in Paris was a monster on its own — 150,000 seats arranged like a coliseum for modern gladiators.
Hallways were spotless, lit by soft neon strips that made everything look futuristic. The seats were leather-smooth, although they were almost useless as fans stands throughout, and the ring took center stage like a steel throne.
A giant circular ring— walled with bulletproof glass that rises before a fight, and beneath it… a dark hole used for "technical collapses," the polite name for fatalities. DBL didn't pretend to be clean.
Almost everyone alive was streaming the event, phones raised, screens flickering on every corner of social media. It had the same gravity as a World Cup final — the kind no one dared miss.
Europe versus South America. The King versus The Beast. Even people who didn't care about sports were glued to their screens. Everything about nights like this felt historic because they were.
"It's the Sunday night we've all been waiting for!" Matt shouted, his voice overflowing with excitement. "It never disappoints, it's never boring, it's the maiiiiin event." The crowd answered him with another wave of noise that rattled through the arena. "And the main event for tonight is—!"
He took a deep breath like he wanted to savor the moment before dropping the bomb.
"The legend, the myth, the god — The King! The undefeated S+-tier Violet Gem fighter representing Europe, hailed from England! Holder of the intercontinental DBL championship for fifteen years — fifteen years, let that sink in! Defending the title for a record of 7 times."
He let the noise fill the atmosphere again like he loved it.
"A record of 52–0–2, the absolute pinnacle of fighting potential… Ambrose Drako — THE KING!"
Ambrose entered with the confidence of someone who had already won. The bulletproof walls shimmered around him as he walked, each step slow and controlled like he owned the ground he touched.
Medical bots hovered above, their mechanical wings fluttering as they scanned the arena for safety.
Cameras rushed to capture him, but Ambrose moved too unpredictably; he was a nightmare for photographers and a treasure for fans.
Ambrose's violet eyes scanned the arena like a predator assessing prey.
"Let them cheer," he thought, a cold smirk tugging at his lips. "It makes them blind to what's coming."
He bounced lightly around the ring, warming up, his hair falling over his face in a perfect wave. Then he did his signature move — he lowered his head, let his hair cover his eyes, then snapped it back up as fireworks burst behind him.
Fans screamed like he was a rockstar descended from heaven. Boos mixed in too, mostly from the opposing side, but Ambrose thrived on both.
"And his contestant," Matt continued, "A-tier Blue Gem fighter representing South America, hailing from Colombia! A true beast with one goal — to take down the king and carve his name into DBL history. A record of 34–1–3, lightning-fast, a mind reader in the ring… Pablo Diaz!"
Pablo stepped into the arena with a completely different aura — focused, tight, deadly.
His coach whispered something into his ear, a last-minute strategy, and Pablo nodded without breaking eye contact with the king. He looked like a man entering war, not sport.
The arena erupted into boos the moment Pablo entered. Paris wasn't going to cheer for a South American fighter, just like a South American crowd wouldn't cheer for a European. DBL fans were loyal, stubborn, and loud. You could feel the rivalry in the air like static.
The referee brought them together, though "referee" barely meant anything here. In DBL ring, the only rule was simple: no rules.
The crowd loved that part more than anything — humanity was twisted like that. Give them violence, and they'll cheer until their lungs hurt.
The glass wall surrounding the ring slowly rose up.
The bell rang.
Round 1 — Fight.
Pablo didn't hesitate. He launched forward like a bullet, opening with two rapid strikes —
BAM! BAM!
They cracked against Ambrose's jaw so loudly the entire arena gasped.
The King's head turned.
But he didn't fall.
He just smiled.
Ambrose tilted his head, calm as ever. "Too slow," he thought, violet eyes tracking Pablo's rhythm. He didn't flinch, didn't falter. A faint smirk appeared. "Predictable."
The crowd erupted into shock.
Pablo didn't celebrate — he followed up immediately, fists flying like a machine.
Tap-tap-tap-tap— WHOOOSH—
A spinning heel kick cut through the air. Ambrose barely slipped under it.
"PABLO IS NOT PLAYING TODAY!!" Matt yelled, nearly choking on his excitement.
Pablo kept pressing, moving like quicksilver — feints, jabs, a sweeping body shot, then an uppercut that would've killed 90% of fighters.
The arena BOOMED with every hit he attempted. He was clearly very skilled with the blue gem—aqua mind.
For the first time in years…
Ambrose actually stepped back.
The whole stadium leaned forward like the planet itself held its breath.
"THE KING IS… DEFENDING?!" the commentators screamed.
Pablo gritted his teeth.
His eyes were sharp. Intelligent. Calculating.
He wasn't a random challenger.
He was hunting using the famous south America style—cerebral flow.
Pablo's mind raced. "Okay… adapt. He's reading my moves… I need to bait him."
He landed a gut punch that folded Ambrose slightly — the crowd went WILD.
"Hooooff!!!" the viewers in Tokyo viewing center shouted in sync, reacting like they were inside the arena.