I feel alive.
I want more of this.
More of humans.
Action.
Danger.
I’ve trained in plenty of schools, kickboxing and MMA. My dad is a great coach. But only once have I been to a place like this—an underground cage match in Thailand when we lived there. Underground, because the bets were unofficial, and the rules were so skewed that the referee was there to encourage violence rather than control it. A place where blood was the highest reward.
This place is dirty, a former hangar by the looks of it, bare walls, except for torn-up drapes that hang full-length down the walls, fire escapes and mezzanine catwalks below the ceiling with armed guards.
It smells of booze, sweat, smoke, and fire pits. This place brings together the resort daredevils and the town’s beasts. But also a lot of fuck ups, by the look of it. I haven’t been to Port Mrei yet, but I can only imagine.
The bodies start pressing closer from behind, pushing and dripping beer and spit and whatnot on me.
But Marlow only scans the crowd with practiced indifference—yeah, he’s been here before.
I don’t like elbows and other people’s breath against my skin. But this is better than the quiet humming of violins in the posh restaurants at the resort. My kinda place.
I spot a familiar person down in the front row and tap Marlow on the arm.
“That Matrix guy, with a cigarette in his mouth—who is he?”
“Raven.”
I turn to stare at Marlow. “Great intro, dude.”
“You’ll meet him. He probably had a fight earlier.”
Bets are taken. The old-fashioned way. Pen and paper. Money changes hands swiftly.
“F*cked Up” by XXXTENTACION starts booming from the speakers.
I fucking love it.
Adrenalin pumps through my veins.
I haven’t been to a concert in years. To a good gathering—since the Change. Haven’t felt charged like this even when Mr. Chancellor came to claim us on the Eastside.
The crowd goes wild when Archer and Kai step into the cage.
They are both shirtless in the center of the octagon. I wonder if they even get down and dirty. The other part of me is raging with anticipation—I wonder if one of themwillsnap and do some serious damage.
“Chan! Cel! Lor!” the crowd starts chanting, and in seconds, the entire building chants Archer’s name like he is king.
The referee picks up the mic and encourages people to place the last bets, his voice barely audible against the music.
But the two figures in the octagon don’t pay attention.
Kai and Archer circle each other, and I wonder who will make the first move. Those two define the next day on this island not just for me—for all of us. The roaring crowd around me doesn’t understand this.
So, turns out, the Chancellor has a wild streak. This is not legal, but there is no one to enforce the law. No gloves, mouth guards, or groin protection. Sketchy as hell. Dangerous and medically expensive.
Big money encourages illegal shit like this. So does lack of money. It’s a double-edged sword.
The crowd erupts in a cheer. I’ve missed it—I return my eyes to the cage where Archer and Kai are circling each other again, though one of them just made the first move.