Cyrn, Elyon, and Thalen had been walking for a while now. The sun had set long, and the surrounding population became more and more impoverished.
Beggars slept on the street, and pickpockets tried and failed to steal from them. And more than a few "Ladies of the night" tried and failed to catch the group's attention.
As they were walking, Thalen chimed in, "Makes you appreciate what you have huh?"
Elyon quickly responded, "Makes me hate what I have. This is atrocious."
Elyon's bleeding heart had shown through more than once on this walk. He did come here to lose money, so he had been discreetly donating to many of the people they had been passing.
However, he couldn't give as much as he wanted, lest they be swarmed and forced to defend themselves.
Soon, El brought them to a door with an evident slit of an eye hole. Elyon knocked in an odd pattern, and seconds later, the slit opened, and a pair of eyes met them.
"Password."
Elyon didn't respond, just held up a bag of what Cyrn assumed to be Solars, jingling them around.
The guard's eyes narrowed before he reluctantly opened the door. "Hmph, this won't work every time, kids. I just happen to be easily bribeable."
Elyon chuckled, "Sure, anyway, where's the fight club? These two are here to participate."
The guard's eyes narrowed in on Cyrn and Thalen, "You lot don't look like you belong here, to clean. You nobles or something? Why would some noble kids want to be here?"
Cyrn quickly dismissed him, "Noble or not, we have money and want to fight. Is there anything more you need?"
The guard shrugged, his face resigned. "Not really, there's a long set of stairs down the hall. The arena's pretty deep to hide the sound. Just keep walking, you'll hear the cheers eventually."
The group nodded and proceeded on. After walking down the stairs for a few minutes, they felt the rumble before they heard it. They opened a door and were met with a fairly large arena, a deep pit in the center of it, and caged metal running up from said pit.
Currently, two shirtless, bald men were fighting in the arena, one was significantly larger than the other, and it seemed the battle had been decided already.
The large one picked up the small one, his hands and legs held by each hand of the behemoth. Soon, the behemoth pulled, and the main was torn right down the middle. Intestines hanging out like tentacles from both halves, and the tormented face frozen on his dead body.
The behemoth threw both halves and held his hand up for applause. The crowd screamed in a violence-induced haze. The brutality of the scene is pumping their blood.
Over the entire arena, the group heard "And the winner for the 23rd time in a row is…The Terror!!!"
After the match was called, an attendant came up to the three of them. "Spectating, betting, or fighting?"
The three looked around, and soon Elyon spoke up, "I'm betting these two are fighting."
"Names?"
"Thal-"
Elyon interrupted Thalen, "Not your real names, just stage ones."
Thalen's eyes widened. "Oh, then…Glaciar."
The attendant wrote it down, then looked at Cyrn. "Name?"
Cyrn grinned, exposing just the edge of a canine. "Vampire."
The attendant blinked. "...The hell's that?"
"You'll find out."
Elyon chuckled, and Thalen looked on in confusion.
The attendant wrote down Cyrn's name, then looked at them both, "Go sit in the dugout, you'll be called for your fights. There's no backing out now."
He then looked at Elyon, "Would you like to pay for a private booth, sir?"
Elyon nodded, "Yes, please, your best one."
The attendant led Elyon away, and Cyrn and Thalen made their way to the dugout. What they were met with was jarring.
Most of the "participants" were simply slaves forced to fight and die for others' entertainment. Besides the droves of sacrificial lambs, there were a handful of real combatants here. Some scarier than the others.
Thalen and Cyrn found a seat near the exit to the pit, and Thalen closed his eyes, seemingly meditating.
Cyrn began to contemplate the situation he was in right now, and mainly what he might soon have to do.
Most of the slaves I can take care of without killing them, but the stronger ones, I can't afford to hold back, and they'll be aiming to kill me. I've never killed before, not anyone that wasn't already dying at least.
The name Gregory bubbled up like bile. He shoved it down again.
Now, though, there was nothing to run from. He came here, a place that was ready to kill him; he needs to be ready to fight back.
I can't keep acting like my regeneration will keep me safe. There must be an upper limit to it, and I'm not going to find it today.
Cyrn's inner monologue was cut short as he heard the announcer.
"Please welcome to the stage, a returning champ, with a record of 30 consecutive wins, Tempest!! And facing off against this pit legend is a newcomer today, GLACIAR!!!"
Thalen's eyes shot open, and he then stood up and walked towards the entrance to the pit, tempest already waiting inside.
"Goodluck Glaciar," Cyrn said with a smile, though he was worried that Thalen was going against someone so strong so quickly.
Thalen looked over his shoulder, a smug smile on his face, and said, "Don't need it."
"Eww, don't do that again, you don't look that cool," Cyrn said with his face twisting in mock disgust.
Thalen rolled his eyes before walking into the pit.
POV: Thalen
Stillness Thalen. If you fight well, then you will win. Remember this.
Thalen was more prepared for this than Cyrn was; the Fimblewinter family's training was much more Spartan than that of other families. Thalen had been put in situations most children never should have. His mother was always incredibly against it, but his father pressed on.
Across from Thalen stood a man, dressed in a simple tunic and trousers, a reed hanging from his mouth. His hair was tied in a ponytail, long and black. A small scar over his right eye, but no other discernible features.
He looked at Thalen and smiled, "Didn't realize they started to let kids participate, don't worry, squirt, I won't kill ya."
Thalen didn't flinch, holding Tempest's gaze with unwavering readiness. Nothing was shaking him; he was as cold as a glacier.
The announcer's voice then echoed, "Combatants ready? START!!"
Tempest disappeared from where he was standing, a gust of wind blowing into Thalen's form, as he then reappeared behind him, blade poised to pierce right through Thalen.
When the blade made contact, it didn't pierce like Tempest had thought; instead, it met a hard layer of frost right on Thalen's back. The frost then began to spread from his back to the tip of his sword, then further.
It eventually encapsulated the whole blade, rendering it useless.
Tempest stood in shock, and soon an ice-covered fist connected with his jaw. Tempest was sent flying, face broken and bloodied.
Before he could fully recover, Thalen threw his knee into Tempest's broken face, that knee was soon shredded into a bloody mess.
Thalen retreated and looked at Tempest, face broken but smiling, kind of.
"It's a wind barrier. I concentrate tiny windblades around my body. Anyone that gets too close gets shredded, good luck landing another hit, kiddo, now I gotta try and kill you."
Thalen looked at Tempest, then at his knee, then back at Tempest.
"You shouldn't have told me that."