Chapter 64: Grand Prize Claimed
Clang!
The heavy iron gates slammed shut behind them.
Holden and Varga stood alone in the cage. The sand on the floor was dark, stained by the blood of earlier matches. Flickering fire pits threw long shadows across the arena. Above them, thousands of spectators leaned over the railings, screaming for a violent finish.
The crowd stomped their feet in unison.
Thoom. Thoom. Thoom.
The entire underground stadium shook. Cups fell from ledges. Dust rained down from the ceiling. The wooden supports groaned like they might give out at any second.
Varga lifted his massive battle axe and roared at the crowd.
"THIS IS WHAT YOU CAME FOR! THIS IS THE IRON FANG WAY!"
He turned to face Holden. A wild grin split his scarred face. He flexed his shoulders, and visible energy rippled across his huge body. His aura flared around him, a brutal crimson glow that marked him as Rank 2, 5-Star.
"You know what I did before I came down here tonight?" Varga asked, circling slowly. "I planned out my whole week. Monday, I collect this prize money. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, me and my boys hunt down some academy brats who’ve been causing trouble for a client. Rich kid wants them dead. Pays well."
He swung his axe in a lazy arc. The blade whistled through the air.
"Gonna start with the boy. Then maybe his sister. Heard she’s real smart. Smart doesn’t help when you’re screaming, though."
Holden tilted his head slightly under the gold mask.
"Monday through Thursday, huh?" Holden said, his voice coming out cold and mechanical through the mask. "That’s a pretty light schedule for someone who calls himself a boss. My dentist fills more hours than that."
Varga’s grin faltered for just a second. "The hell did you just say to me?"
"Oh, sorry. Was I not supposed to talk? I assumed this was the part where we exchange threats and you tell me about all the horrible things you’re going to do to my corpse." Holden raised one hand in a casual shrug. "Please, continue. You were at the part about the smart sister. Very original stuff, by the way. Really compelling villain monologue. Five stars."
The crowd murmured in confusion. Asura had never spoken this much in any of his previous fights. The silent, terrifying unknown was suddenly... chatty?
Varga’s eyes narrowed. The scarred fighter wasn’t used to opponents who talked back. Most of them were too busy shaking in their boots to form complete sentences.
"You think you’re funny?" Varga growled.
"I think I’m hilarious. But that’s beside the point." Holden took a step forward. "See, here’s my problem with your whole schedule. Tuesday through Thursday? You’re going to be busy. That means Monday night, right now, you’re going to be unavailable."
"Unavailable for what?"
"Dinner. Because you’re going to be eating through a tube for about six to eight weeks."
Varga’s face twisted with rage. His aura flared brighter, the crimson glow intensifying until it cast harsh shadows across the sand.
"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" The announcer’s voice hit a fever pitch. "THE CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH OF NIGHT SEVENTY-FOUR! RANK TWO, FIVE-STAR BRUTE! LEADER OF THE IRON FANGS! VAAAARGA! VERSUS! THE TERRIFYING UNKNOWN! ASUUUURA!"
Ding!
Varga charged forward with all his strength.
He didn’t test or probe. He committed everything to one massive overhead slash, bringing the axe down with the full force of his cultivation. The blade cut through the air with a vicious howl, aimed to split Holden from shoulder to hip.
Holden didn’t block.
He stepped forward.
Strike below ribs while he swings. Don’t try to block. Just get inside his guard and hit the gap.
Maeve’s voice echoed in his memory. She had watched recordings of Varga’s fights for three straight days to find that opening. Half a second. That was all the window he had.
His body moved inside the axe’s arc before the blade even reached its apex. The weapon sailed harmlessly past his shoulder, missing by inches. He could feel the displaced air brush against his neck, could see the runes on the dark metal blur past his vision. Varga’s torso twisted with the momentum, exactly like the reports said.
The opening appeared.
A small gap below Varga’s ribs on the right side. Exposed for exactly half a second before the big man could recover.
Holden’s palm began to glow as his power surged.
Asura’s heat flooded into his hand, turning his skin red-gold with concentrated energy. He drove his strike upward into that exact spot with perfect precision.
Thwack!
Varga’s defensive aura shattered instantly. The crimson glow around his body cracked and dispersed into nothing. His eyes went wide with shock.
The battle axe slipped from his fingers.
Thud!
Varga dropped to his knees. Both hands gripped his side where Holden had struck. He gasped for air like a drowning man, each breath a wet, strangled sound.
The colosseum fell completely silent.
A referee in a black mask stepped toward the cage, lifting his hand into the air to signal that the match was over.
Holden stepped closer.
He leaned down until his gold mask was inches from Varga’s ear. The big man was shaking, eyes unfocused, still trying to understand what had just happened to him.
"Listen carefully," Holden said.
His voice came out distorted by the mask, cold and mechanical. But despite the fake tone, he sounded incredibly patient. He spoke with the voice of a man who was completely sure of himself.
"The contract on Holden Voss gets canceled tonight. Every Iron Fang stays away from the Prime Zone. Forever."
Varga’s lips trembled.
"If you don’t," Holden continued, voice dropping lower, "I will find you. I will find every single one of your men. And I will hurt you in ways that make this feel like a love tap."
He let the words hang for a moment.
"Do you understand me?"
Varga’s eyes rolled back in his head.
He collapsed face-first to the ground, unconscious from pain and terror combined.
The referee reached the cage door but stopped, staring down at the fallen champion.
The announcer’s voice cracked through the silence.
"...Varga... Varga is down! ASURA WINS! ASURA IS THE NEW BLOOD COLOSSEUM CHAMPION!"
The stadium erupted.
The noise was deafening. People screamed and cheered and threw things into the pit. Fights broke out in the stands over unpaid bets. The scarred bookmaker laughed so hard he fell out of his chair.
Holden straightened and walked toward the cage exit without looking back.
An hour later, he stood in a private room beneath the colosseum. A heavy trunk of gold coins sat on the table before him, along with a leather pouch containing the official championship token.
[Ding!]
[Rank 2 (5-Star) Cultivator Defeated!]
[Base Reward: 1,000 KP]
[Colosseum Championship Bonus: +500 KP]
[Boss Kill Bonus: +500 KP]
[2x KP Booster Applied!]
[Total: +4,000 KP]
[Current Balance: 19,790 KP]
Holden stared at the number.
He had nineteen thousand kill points now. That was almost a fifth of his goal from only one night of work. And Varga would spread the word about Asura through every criminal network in the city. The Iron Fangs would cancel the hit. Draven’s money would buy him nothing but disappointment.
He picked up the championship token and turned it over in his fingers.
Then he pulled on his cloak, adjusted his mask, and walked into the shadows toward home.