The arena was packed, more than usual. Adapters filled every row, their weapons glinting under the overhead lights. Each blade, staff, or gun was tailored to its wielder, humming with personalized resonance.
I'd said earlier that no one was my equal on equal footing. Might've been a stretch. Adapter abilities were always a nightmare to deal with— tricky, wild, and unpredictable. And right now? I didn't even have my exoskeleton.
"So how do you plan on fighting in your state?"
Elara stood beside me, arms folded, concern flickering in her eyes. A part of her didn't want me in that ring, not like this.
"Only the first match will be like this," I said, adjusting the revolver at my side. "Once I show the crowd I'm worth the gamble, they'll heal me themselves."
"Ah, I see. Another reason you came here, for free medical assistance."
Her voice was even, but I caught the tiniest smirk curling her lips.
'She's beginning to understand me more and more. It's unsettling.'
We made our way up to the receptionist's desk.
She looked to be in her thirties, black hair tucked into a neat bun, wearing a professional suit with a satisfied air about her.
"All three of us would like to participate in the next match," I said.
She lifted her head at my voice, a slight frown tugging at her lips, like my existence alone was mildly offensive.
"Oh, Mr. Stratus. A pleasure to see you again," she said, voice smooth but clearly insincere.
"Likewise," I replied without missing a beat.
Then she turned her attention to Jaime and Elara.
"Jaime, I see you're here as well."
This time, her frown softened into a genuine smile.
"Sup, Roxy."
'What's that about?'
"And I see you have a... Drakonid with you."
Her voice lingered a little too long on the word, as if she wasn't sure whether to be impressed or concerned.
Elara stayed silent, seemingly uninterested in whatever expression Roxy was making.
Roxy regained her composure quickly and set about scheduling our matches.
"Okay. Mr. Stratus, you have a match in thirty minutes. Mrs. uh…"
She faltered, glancing at Elara.
"Elara," I supplied, flatly.
"Mrs. Elara will be ten minutes after you and Jaime will be an hour after her."
'She did it again.'
She tapped a few keys on her terminal without looking up. Roxy finished typing and slid three wristbands across the desk.
"These will track your vitals and abilities. Standard procedure. Try not to die before the fun starts."
I took mine with a grunt.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
After picking up our wristbands, we made our way through the main entrance.
The arena was even bigger on the inside, a sprawling colossus of steel and stone. Over forty separate arenas stretched out before us, each one set for battle. Upper boxes lined the walls for VIPs, while thousands of regular seats packed the stands. Hundreds of screens hovered above, broadcasting matches from every corner. Tablets were built into the armrests for live betting, flashing odds and wagers nonstop. And everywhere, adapters.
Laughing, drinking, shouting, roaring.
Thousands of them, each one ready to watch someone bleed.
'The bloodlust in this place still irritates me.'
"The air in this arena is intoxicating," Elara said, a satisfied smirk curling on her lips.
'Weirdo.'
"You're such a weirdo, El," Jaime chimed in.
'Glad we both agree... wait, what did he just call her?'
Elara's expression hardened, her eyes turning sharp as ice. "Don't call me that."
"What? Don't like it?" Jaime grinned, clearly enjoying the reaction.
Elara's hair flared, a dangerous spark in her eyes, as if she was about to pounce on him. But Jaime was quick. He raised his hand in front of her, a playful glint in his eye.
"Do Drakonids lack self-control or what?"
"If you fight me here, we'll get kicked out. And Griffin will get pissed."
Elara hesitated, casting a brief glance at me. Her stance softened, the fire in her eyes cooling. Seems like she's still willing to play nice when my name comes up.
"That's a good dragon," Jaime said, voice dripping with condescension.
Elara didn't waste a second. Her fist shot toward his face like a bullet. Jaime barely dodged, leaning back just enough for it to miss. But he wasn't fast enough for the kick that followed—Elara's foot slammed into his stomach, sending him flying into the wall with a heavy thud.
I watched it all unfold in a blink.
'I hate the both of them.'
Jaime peeled himself off the wall, brushing the dust from his shirt with an irritated scowl.
"That hurt, you jerk."
Elara didn't say a word. Her earlier annoyance had melted into a smug, arrogant smirk that said loud and clear: What are you gonna do about it?
Jaime looked like he was about to retaliate, his fists tightening at his sides, but the growing crowd around us made him hesitate. More eyes meant more trouble. If the guards got involved, we'd be fined for fighting inside the arena and for causing a disturbance at the front gate.
"Enough, you two," I said, voice sharp. "Save it for your opponents."
"No problem, Griffin." Elara turned to Jaime with a mocking tilt of her head. "Unless... you object?"
Jaime grumbled under his breath but forced a smile.
"Not at all."
Jaime waved to the crowd with an awkward smile plastered on his face.
"Nothing to see here, folks! I just tripped."
They didn't believe him, not even a little. But it didn't matter. None of them were going to do anything about it.
Elara walked off first, smiling from ear to ear like she'd just won a prize. Jaime and I trailed behind her.
"Hey," I muttered under my breath, "teasing her's fun and all, but maybe don't push it. She might actually kill us."
"I can see that," Jaime said. "I thought she was more subservient around you, but I guess not."
Jaime gave me a sideways look.
"What'd you even do to get her that submissive?"
"Die."
Jaime stopped mid-step, staring at me like I'd just punched the prime minister. Then his eyes flicked down to my still-healing body and the realization hit him.
"This is exactly why I hate you going places without me."
"Whatever," I said, brushing him off. "Let's hurry up."
We walked for a few minutes before reaching the participant quarters.
Our locker room was massive, bigger than some apartments I'd seen. Three couches and a giant flatscreen dominated the center, a private shower and jacuzzi steamed invitingly off to one side, while a wall of sleek lockers lined the other. Only groups who registered together were allowed to share a room, supposedly to keep us from killing each other before the matches started.
"Impressive," Elara said, her eyes sweeping over the room with a slow, approving nod.
She dropped onto one of the couches, crossed one leg over the other, and leaned back like she owned the place. For a second, I almost forgot how annoying she was. It was easy to — she really was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen, even when she was being impossible.
"My match starts in a few minutes," I said, adjusting the bandages around my arm. "Don't cause any trouble while I'm gone."
"Sure," she replied, her smile a little too innocent to be convincing.
'Not sure I trust her.'
I glanced at Jaime for backup, but he only shrugged.
I sighed, dragging a hand through my hair as I headed toward the tunnel.
"Griffin!"
I turned halfway back. Elara was still lounging on the couch, but her crimson eyes gleamed with something mischievous.
"Put on a show for me, okay?"
Without answering, I disappeared into the tunnel, my boots echoing against the polished floor.
The arena lights exploded into my vision, blinding and brutal. A wall of sound hit me a second later — cheers, jeers, the raw pulse of a crowd hungry for blood.
"Hey! Who's that?"
"Never seen 'im before!"
"Wait... are those bandages? Why's he fighting injured?"
"Idiots! That's Griffin Stratus, you morons!"
"THE ANOMALY!!"
The chant built like a thunderstorm, hammering my ears:
ANOMALY! ANOMALY! ANOMALY!
I shut it out.
Across the arena, my opponent stepped onto the sand. A man in his mid-twenties, green hair slicked back, sharp blue eyes, the shadow of a stubble on his jaw. He wore a black dress shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows, and matching slacks. He moved with casual, almost lazy confidence, a katana resting against his shoulder.
He was good-looking, sure.
A booming voice ripped through the arena, making the ground itself seem to vibrate:
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, IT'S TIME FOR OUR NEXT SHOWDOWN!!"
"IN THIS CORNER — THE UNKNOWN, THE UNPREDICTABLE — THE ANOMALY HIMSELF: GRIFFIN STRATUS!!"
"AND FACING HIM — THE SHARP-EDGED PRODIGY: RYAN SAND!!"
"LET... THE MATCH... BEGIN!!"
The crowd went wild.