Chapter 92- Speedster vs Stryker

The underground arena was heavy with the mingling smells of sweat, smoke, and the sharp tang of metal. Voices clashed and swirled—cheers, shouts, and raw, throaty roars—melding into a chaotic hum that vibrated through the air. The crowd, a dense sea of bodies packed tightly together, pulsed like a single entity, surging and swaying with every crushing blow, every narrow escape, and every display of raw power in the pit below.

Crude floodlights flickered overhead, casting long, jagged shadows along the walls of the cavernous space. The illumination was just bright enough to highlight the fighters but dim enough that the edges of the arena remained cloaked in an eerie semi-darkness.

Spectators leaned forward from their makeshift seats, their faces alight with the savage thrill of the match. Some shouted odds, while others simply reveled in the violence unfolding before them.

In the center of it all, the battle between the stryker and the speedster had entered a new phase as the two combatants abandoned all pretense of strategy. No more feints, no more calculated maneuvers—just raw, unfiltered power clashing head-on.

"[Qi Blast!]," the stryker shouted, the shimmering aura of qi around him reducing sharply as he channeled its energy, compressing it into a glowing sphere between his hands. With a sharp motion, he launched the orb toward his opponent, who dodged swiftly, the attack narrowly missing as it streaked past.

"Too slow," the Speedster taunted, his voice cutting through the pit's dust-choked air, He feinted left, then shot forward like a bullet, delivering a lightning-fast series of kicks, His strikes barely registered before he was gone again, a blur that flickered from one position to another.

The feral crowd roared at the speedster's counter, but the stryker was unfazed. Just moments before the attacks had landed, he had consumed more of his qi to reinforce his body, greatly reducing the damage he had taken. However, it was very clear that in spite of his raw strength, he had now way of catching up to the speedster. Unless he revealed some hidden skill or strategy, he would most likely lose this battle.

Rion sat casually at the pit's edge, his arms folded loosely across his chest. He could hear the frustrated grumbles of those who had bet on the stryker grow louder, as the speedster's relentless assault continued to tip the scales.

"Come on, you lumbering oaf! Use your head!" a man to Rion's left bellowed, clenching his fist. His face was red, veins bulging as he screamed at the stryker. "I didn't put my last kila on you to watch you get danced around like a training dummy!"

"He's too slow! What's he even doing out there?" another spectator muttered, shaking his head.

Rion's eyes stayed fixed on the fighters, watching the interplay of styles, the shifting momentum. His mind worked as if breaking apart a machine, dissecting thier movements, and simulating the countermeasures he would take if he was on either side.

Then, he leaned slightly toward Vance and asked "So anyone can just walk up and compete?"

Vance, who had been keeping a close eye on the bets being exchanged around them, turned with a smirk. "It wouldn't be an underground arena otherwise," he said, voice tinged with amusement.

Rion shot him a glance, waiting for a real answer.

Vance chuckled before continuing, "Unlike sanctioned games, there are no rules here. Athletes don't have to go through a strict selection process or special training. No need for a team, an organization, or official rankings. People come and go as they please. One day, someone might be a mercenary, the next, they're an underground duelist, and then back to mercenary work after they've had their fill."

Rion tilted his head, considering. "So this arena is just a place for mercenaries and thrill seekers in Coca to vent?"

"Exactly," Vance confirmed, eyes still fixed on the fight. "As long as your skill level isn't trash, the arena operators will let you in. The only real rule? You take full responsibility for yourself. No one's gonna compensate you if you get your arm broken or your guts spilled. You bring your own weapons, you decide your own limits. Some people treat it as training, some see it as a stepping stone to something bigger, and others... well, some just like the bloodshed."

Rion's gaze flickered back to the pit, where the larger fighter had just taken a brutal kick to the ribs. He staggered but didn't go down, his endurance proving as formidable as his strength. He spat a glob of blood onto the dirt and grinned, unfazed by the pain.

Vance continued, "Obviously, the organizers don't let people go too crazy. No automatic firearms, no explosives, nothing that could wipe out the audience or make fights too one-sided. But they don't interfere much. If they did, it'd ruin the appeal." He smirked. "They want fighters to keep coming back, after all. And to keep things interesting, fighters actually get a cut of the earnings. Ticket sales, gambling pots—it all adds up. That's how they attract new blood."

Rion hummed in understanding, his fingers tapping idly against his arm. Before he could say more, the tension in the pit spiked.

"Oh, look," he murmured, eyes gleaming with interest. "The fight's entering its final phase."

Vance refocused just in time to see the stryker slam his fists into the ground with a roar, releasing the built-up qi in a massive shockwave that rippled outward in all directions. The speedster tried to evade, but the sheer force of the blast caught him mid-movement, sending him skidding across the pit floor.

The crowd erupted, their cheers deafening as the stryker pushed himself to his feet, his breathing ragged but his expression triumphant. The speedster struggled to rise, his movements uncharacteristically sluggish.

The arena floor trembled as the stryker lunged forward, his massive frame a wall of pure muscle. The faint remnants of his blue qi flickered and flared around him as he barelled forward, abandoning all attempts at defense. Each step sent a dull vibration through the ground, echoing like the heartbeat of some primal beast.

The speedster scrambled backward, his movements still quick but no longer fluid, his earlier grace replaced by desperation. He hurriedly pulled out a semi-automatic pistol and fired wantonly, but the larger man barreled through the hail of bullets, using the moment to close the gap. His massive fist, reinforced with qi, came down like a hammer.

The smaller fighter barely managed to dodge, but he wasn't fast enough. The brute's knee came up in the same motion, slamming into his ribs with a sickening crack. The impact sent a tremor up his body, his expression twisting in pain. Before he could retreat, the stryker's massive hand shot out, fingers closing like an iron vice around his ankle.

"You're fast," the stryker admitted, his grip tightening. "But speed means nothing if you can't escape."

Then he slammed his opponent into the ground.

The pit floor cracked under the force. Dust exploded outward in a cloud, obscuring the fighters for a moment before settling to reveal the speedster, groaning, sprawled in the shallow crater. He struggled to rise, his body shaking from the sheer impact, but the stryker didn't allow him a chance.

[Staggering Might!]

Blue qi surged again as he pulled him up with one hand and delivered a bone-rattling punch with the other. The fist connected with a sickening crunch, the impact sending the speedster flying across the pit. He hit the ground hard, skidding through the dirt until he came to a stop near the edge of the arena, his body limp and unmoving. The pistol slipped from his hand, clattering to the ground as the crowd erupted into a frenzy of cheers and curses.

The stryker stood tall, his chest heaving, blood and sweat dripping from his battered frame. The faint glow of his qi flickered one last time before fading entirely, leaving him standing there, a towering monument of raw power and endurance. He raised a fist to the crowd, his face split into a savage grin, and the roar of the spectators grew even louder.

Rion leaned back, his expression unreadable as he watched the scene unfold. "Brutal," he murmured, his voice barely audible over the din. "But effective."

Vance chuckled beside him, shaking his head. "That's muscleheads for you. No finesse, no tricks—just pure, unrelenting force. You've got to respect it, even if it's not exactly... elegant."

Rion's eyes flicked to the speedster, who was now being dragged out of the pit by a pair of arena handlers. "He'll live," he observed, his tone matter-of-fact. "But he's not walking out of here on his own."

Vance shrugged. "That's the risk you take when you step into the pit. No one's forcing him to be here."

The roaring crowd barely had time to settle before the speakers crackled to life once more, the announcer's voice cutting through the lingering tension like a blade.

{What a fight! What a clash of titans! The Smasher has proven that raw power can conquer speed, but—} his voice dropped theatrically before rising to a crescendo, {—do not think for a second that the night's excitement ends here!}

A new wave of energy surged through the arena as spectators leaned in, hungry for more. People groaned, notifications chimed, and murmurs of fresh bets filled the air.

{Because the next fight—oh, ladies and gentlemen, you do not want to miss this—our next contender is one of the Crimson Crown Arena's most fearsome warriors!}

The heavy floodlights flickered again, this time focusing on one of the pit's far entrances. The space beyond was cloaked in darkness, but a rhythmic clank echoed through the cavernous hall—a slow, measured stride, deliberate in its pace.

{She's a veteran, a fighter forged in the fires of a hundred battles! You know her, you fear her, you love her! Introducing… the Bone Queen!}

From the shadows, a figure emerged.

The woman who stepped forward was a stark contrast to the speedster from the previous match. Where he had been all motion and agility, she exuded something else entirely—an imposing, unshakable presence. She was built lean and wiry, her muscles defined without being bulky. Her face was lined with scars, each a testament to battles fought and survived, and her eyes burned with a cold, calculating fire.

The crowd responded with a mixture of cheers and uneasy murmurs. Those who had seen her fight before knew what was coming.

"She's terrifying," Rion murmured, eyes flicking over the shifting armor as it settled into place.

As the Bone Queen flexed her fingers, the announcer spoke again, his voice laced with barely contained excitement.

{But the real question tonight, ladies and gentlemen… is who or rather, 'what' she's fighting!}

The atmosphere shifted, a sudden wave of curiosity rippling through the stands. The way the announcer had phrased it sent a collective shiver of anticipation through the audience.

The answer came with a metallic clank.

Then another.

And another.

From the opposite side of the arena, a massive iron gate rattled violently before beginning its slow, laborious rise. A deep, guttural growl rumbled from beyond, low and resonant, vibrating through the ground itself.

Chains scraped against stone.

Something big was moving.

{For the first time in the history of the Crimson Crown Arena…} The announcer let the words hang, feeding the suspense. {We bring you a battle unlike any other. A battle of man versus beast!}

Gasps rippled through the audience. Even seasoned gamblers and veteran fighters shifted uneasily. This was unprecedented.

Then the creature stepped into the light.

It was huge.

Easily three meters tall at the shoulder, the beast was a mountain of muscle and pale, matted fur. Its head was broad, its jaws bristling with jagged teeth, its breath visible in the cold underground air. Its black eyes gleamed with a primal, merciless intelligence. The thick chains wrapped around its limbs strained as handlers guided it forward, though it was clear the creature was barely restrained.

{The White Bear!} the announcer bellowed, his voice electric. {An Anomaly-class mutated beast with a hide thick enough to deflect bullets, and strength that dwarfs any ordinary fighter! Will the Bone Queen endure its wrath, or will we witness history tonight, as the beast claims victory? Gather up your kilas and make your choice. The battle begins in 5 minutes.}

Five minutes later, the pit trembled as the handlers released the final chain, and the White Bear let out a ground-shaking roar.

The fight was about to begin.