The crowd's roar battered Ren's ears, a cacophony of bloodlust and anticipation. His ribs screamed, a fiery protest against the Cestus-wielder's brutal impact. He swayed, the arena floor tilting beneath him, but his jaw clenched.
"Ren!" Asher's voice cut through the din, sharp with warning.
Ren's breath hitched, a ragged sound torn from his lungs. "I… won't go down that easy."
The Cestus-wielder's lips peeled back, a predatory grin. "Good. I like my prey to struggle." The air thickened, suffocating, heavy with the stench of sweat and fear.
Ren staggered, pain lashing through his side, but a guttural growl ripped from his throat. "Is that all you've got?" His voice, raw and defiant, sliced through the pandemonium, hushing pockets of the ravenous crowd. "Come at me like a real man!"
The Cestus-wielder's teeth bared, amusement flickering in his eyes before rage consumed it. "I won't just prove I'm a man," he snarled, metal-clad fists tensing. "I'll make sure my face is the last thing you ever see!" He launched a relentless storm of blows. Ren danced, a desperate ballet of survival, weaving through the deadly onslaught. Another blow to his ribs, and the fight would be over.
Asher stood amidst his three adversaries, their weapons glinting under the arena's artificial sun. A Gladius, a Trident, a Hasta. A slow smile stretched across Asher's face, a dangerous curve. "Three men against one?" He cocked his head, feigning curiosity. "You must be terrified."
The Trident-wielder snarled, spittle flying. "You're dead meat."
Asher huffed a soft chuckle, venom dripping from his words. "You? Don't speak. You'll be next." They circled him, a trio of predators scenting weakness. Asher remained a statue, muscles coiled like springs. He waited, a silent challenge. Let them make the first move, reveal their hand.
In the stands, Greyson's jaw worked, a muscle twitching. "Why are they hesitating? Just attack him already! He's one man!"
Cosmass shook his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Grey, have you ever actually been in a fight?"
Greyson's brows furrowed. "What's that got to do with—"
"Because if you had," Cosmass cut him off, his gaze fixed on the arena floor, "You wouldn't ask such a stupid question. They're trying to find the best way to strike him without exposing their weaknesses. If they attack recklessly, they're dead."
Greyson fell silent, his bluster deflating. Below, the Cestus-wielder grunted, a sound of pure frustration. "Come on, you coward! Fight me!" His fists flailed, wild and uncoordinated, slamming into empty air. Rage clouded his judgment, a humiliating realization that he couldn't land a finishing blow. Ren saw the crack.
He surged forward, a blur of motion, faking a punch to the face. The warrior instinctively raised his guard. Ren's true target was revealed; his fist plunged deep into the man's stomach. A choked gasp, the warrior's stance collapsing. Before he could recover, Ren's next punch snapped his jaw. Blood erupted, a crimson spray across the timber stage. The crowd roared, a wave of shock and exhilaration. Blinded by fury, the Cestus-wielder swung blindly. Ren ducked, then launched himself skyward, twisting, both legs extending.
The impact launched the warrior. He collided with the pit's edge, momentum carrying him over. A scream, then the splash. The alligators moved. The crowd erupted, a deafening celebration. Gamblers who'd backed Ren and Asher shrieked in triumph. The majority, those who wagered on Vutagon's men, stood frozen, faces pale. Ren landed, breathless. He met Asher's gaze. One down. Three to go. His eyes flickered to the hourglass. A quarter of the sand remained.
He didn't hesitate. His body surged, targeting the Gladius-wielder. The fighter heard his approach, spun, but Ren was already airborne. His fist connected with the man's eye. A sickening crack. The warrior stumbled, clutching his face, blood seeping between his fingers. He now saw the world with a single, blurry vision. Ren's attack shattered their formation, creating a crucial opening for Asher.
Asher darted toward the Trident-wielder, but the Hasta-wielder lunged. Instinct saved Asher. He twisted, narrowly avoiding the lethal thrust.
Up in the stands, Lucius leaned forward, eyes narrowed. "Vutagon, this is not what I expected," he admitted, disappointment lacing his tone, yet his face held a morbid fascination. "Though, I must admit—I do love the entertainment."
Lord Vutagon Mondanza merely smiled, a slow, knowing smirk. "What exactly are you doing?" Lucius asked, confusion knitting his brow.
Mondanza's smirk deepened. "Patience, my friend," his voice, silk-smooth, promised. "This is merely an appetizer."
On the battlefield, Ren's voice cut through the chaos. "Time is running out—we have to finish this!" Fueled by urgency, he delivered a final, devastating blow to the Gladius-wielder. The fighter crumpled. Gone. Without a wasted breath, Ren turned toward the Trident-wielder.
Across the arena, Greyson was losing his mind. "I don't believe this! These two guys have taken out four of Mondanza's warriors—there are only two left!"
His complaints died as Asher executed a brutal move, snapping the Hasta-wielder's head back with force, sending him sprawling. One left—the Trident-wielder. He glanced at his fallen comrades, then did the unthinkable. He started backing away. The woman who'd initially complained about the unfair odds scoffed. "Looks like all you men should've been coming to ME for advice if you wanted to multiply your gold."
The men near her glared, their expressions dark enough to kill. Nova Velasquez exhaled, a breath she hadn't realized she held. For the first time in hours, a sliver of hope rekindled in her chest.
"Fight, you coward!" The crowd roared, especially those gamblers whose fortunes hung precariously on the Trident-wielder's next move.