The arena roared.
Suarez circled Gideon like a jackal around a downed lion.
Measured. Pacing. Watching.
Then—Gideon's guard dropped.
Just an inch. Not sloppy. Not slow.
Inviting.
Suarez whispered under his breath, "Old man's slipping…"
He launched. A jab, fast and surgical—right at the shoulder joint.
Target the rotator. Kill the rhythm.
Gideon turned his head.
Just his head.
And stared.
Not anger.
Not fear.
Just that thing behind the eyes.
The part of him that wanted the hurt.
Suarez froze mid-strike.
Hand trembled. Chest tightened.
His body knew before his brain.
This wasn't fear. This was survival failing.
The crowd shifted. Cheers stuttered into static.
"What's wrong with Suarez?"
"He's not moving!"
"Is this a joke?!"
His coach bellowed, voice cracking:
"FINISH IT!"
But Suarez just stood there—locked on the stillness.
Not the mass. Not the scars.
The quiet.
A Delta Force mark across Gideon's chest—dagger, wings—split down the middle by a scar that looked earned in a padded room, not a battlefield.
"If you see that mark under the skin…"
"…you don't fight. You run."
The lieutenant's words. Years ago. They hit now.
Suarez snapped himself back. Slapped his cheek. Bounced once.
Switched stances. Fake it. Move. Survive.
Roundhouse kick—low, fast, aimed for Gideon's knee.
He swung—
And Gideon vanished.
Not literally. But close enough.
CRACK.
Open palm—right into Suarez's mouth.
Silence.
Then… Gideon's hand didn't leave.
It plunged deeper.
Like he was gripping the inside of Suarez's skull.
The coach dropped to one knee.
"Niña Blanca…" he whispered.
"Take this soul."
Rick, outside the cage, finally collapsed.
His breath shallow.
"This isn't a fight."
"This is a god testing the meat."
"And I dragged it in here."
Inside the cage—panic.
Suarez punched. Elbowed. Slammed fists into ribs.
Nothing.
Gideon didn't even blink.
One punch landed. Cut Gideon's jaw.
A drop of blood.
Hope?
No.
Gideon's neck reset—casual, bone-click smooth.
His grin sharpened.
And the yellow pinpricks above?
They flared.
Watching. Always watching.
Gideon leaned close. Voice like rust dragged through a tomb.
"Bad choice."
He lifted one leg—
BOOM.
Kicked Suarez across the cage.
CRACK.
He hit the wall. Hit the floor.
Blood. Coughs. Broken breath.
Hand reached for his mouth.
Nothing there.
His scream broke the arena.
"AAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHH—"
People screamed. One vomited.
The ref? Curled in a corner, whispering prayers.
The crowd didn't cheer.
They didn't even breathe.
They just watched.
Rick bit his own tongue. Hard.
"No one's walking out. Not after that."
Gideon stood alone.
Grinning.
Too wide. Too perfect.
Wrong.
He opened his fist.
Clink.
A tooth hit the mat.
Then another.
Clink. Clink.
Each step forward—more teeth.
Ivory and blood, dropped like currency.
Above—yellow eyes pulsed.
A voice. Low. Ancient.
"Price… price…"
And still—
No bell.
No end.
Just Gideon.
Waiting for someone else to make
a worse decision.
Still here? Good.Komragh doesn't reward loyalty. It punishes hesitation.Add this to your library — or don't.Either way, you're already in the game.