Blood and Sand

Jason spat blood onto the dirt floor. His vision blurred for a second, but he forced himself to stay steady.

The crowd around the pit screamed for more.

"Get up, kid!" someone shouted.

His opponent—a massive, bald man covered in scars—stalked forward, fists raised. Jason clenched his jaw, ignoring the pain burning in his ribs. This wasn't his first fight, but damn, this one hurt.

The underground pits of Lowgrave were no place for a sixteen-year-old. But Jason had learned something early in life—if you weren't strong, you were nothing.

And Jason refused to be nothing.

The brute lunged.

Jason dodged left, but pain flared in his side. He wasn't fast enough. The man caught him with a backhand, sending him sprawling into the dirt.

The crowd roared.

Jason tasted blood. His body screamed for him to stay down. But he couldn't.

Not with the stakes so high.

Not with Reagan, the pit boss, watching from the shadows.

Jason owed him money—money he didn't have. And in the pits, if you couldn't pay, you bled for it.

The brute grabbed Jason by the collar and lifted him off the ground. A mistake.

Jason gritted his teeth and slammed his forehead into the man's nose.

Crack.

The brute staggered back, howling in pain.

Jason didn't hesitate. He lunged, driving his fist into the man's throat, then his gut, then—bam!—a final strike to the jaw.

The brute dropped.

Silence.

Then the crowd exploded.

Jason stood there, swaying on his feet, blood dripping from his lips. He had won.

But he knew better than to celebrate.

Reagan's enforcer, a sharp-eyed man named Kane, stepped into the pit, smirking.

"You fight well, Jason. But you still owe a debt."

Jason wiped his mouth. He knew what was coming next.

Another fight. Another bruised body. Another night spent crawling back to his hiding place, barely able to breathe.

He needed to get out of this life.

But in Lowgrave, the only way out was through blood or betrayal.

And Jason wasn't ready to die.

Not yet.

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