Not yet.
I saw them glance my way, saw the calculation in their eyes as they weighed their options. They knew who I was. Knew my reputation. In Fange City's fighting pits, I'd built a name on broken bodies and quick victories. The smart ones, the ones who'd survived this long by being careful, they gave me a wide berth.
They'd take their chances with each other first. Thin the herd. Hope that someone else would weaken me before they had to face me themselves.
Only the confident ones would come for me directly. The ones who thought their skill was enough. The ones who wanted to prove something by taking down Ahrick the Undefeated.
I counted bodies as they fell. Watched the chaos sort itself into patterns. Saw which fighters were dangerous, which were desperate, which were already dead and just didn't know it yet.
And through it all, I kept one eye on the cage above. On her. Making sure she was still there, still safe, still watching.
Still mine to protect.
My first fight was an Ardesian—tall, gangly, all sharp angles and overconfidence. He charged at me with his claws extended, roaring something that might have been a battle cry. The crowd loved it, their cheers rising to meet his bravado.
He made it three steps before his own feet tangled beneath him.
The stumble was almost comical—his forward momentum carrying him into an ungainly sprawl that sent him skidding across the blood-slicked arena floor. He tried to catch himself, arms windmilling, but only succeeded in face-planting hard enough that I heard the impact over the crowd noise.
I didn't give him time to recover. Didn't give him the chance to realize what had happened or feel the embarrassment that would come later.
I was on him in two strides, grabbing a fistful of his hair and slamming his head into the ground once, twice. The second impact did it. His body went limp, consciousness fleeing.
The crowd booed. They'd wanted a show, wanted blood and struggle and drawn-out violence.
Too bad.
I wasn't here to entertain them. I was here to win, and the fastest path to victory was the one I'd take every time. I stepped over the Ardesian's unconscious form and moved toward the center of the arena, scanning for the next threat.
One down.
The second opponent lumbered into view—a Dhurlok, massive and grotesque. Four arms sprouted from its torso, each ending in serrated claws easily the length of my forearm that looked like they could gut me in a single swipe.
But the body was all wrong.
Too heavy. Too ungainly. Its torso was barrel-shaped and awkward, legs too short for its mass. Every step was a lurching commitment, momentum carrying it forward whether it wanted to go or not.
I could work with that.
The Dhurlok came at me with all four arms spread wide, trying to corner me, force me into a position where those claws could do their work. The crowd roared approval.
I waited. Let it close the distance. Watched its center of gravity shift as it prepared to strike.
Then I moved.
I drove my fist into its kidney—or what I hoped was its kidney. The Dhurlok bellowed, the sound reverberating through the arena. It swung wildly, all four arms thrashing, but I was already moving, staying close where its size worked against it.
Another strike, this time to the back of its knee. The joint buckled and the Dhurlok staggered, fighting to stay upright. Its arms windmilled for balance, claws slicing empty air.
I circled behind it, fast, and kicked the back of its other knee. This time it went down hard, crashing to the arena floor with enough force to shake the ground beneath my feet. Dust and old blood puffed up around its fallen form.
The Dhurlok tried to push itself up, all four arms working to lever its bulk off the ground. I grabbed one of those arms, twisted it at an angle that made the joint scream in protest, and used my body weight to keep it pinned. I shifted my grip, got my arm around its thick neck, and squeezed.
Finally—finally—its movements slowed. Weakened. The massive body went slack beneath me.
Two down.
A Kryll came at me fast—four arms, mandibles dripping venom. He thought speed would win. I let his momentum carry him past me and drove my elbow into the back of his skull where the chitin was thinnest. The crunch was satisfying. When he tried to recover, I locked my arm around his throat from behind and squeezed until his struggles weakened. His mandibles snapped inches from my face, spraying venom that burned through my vest and into my shoulder. The pain was sharp and immediate but I held on until he went slack.
