The trip to the store had been easy enough, the shopping itself had been irritating. Prices of food had increased, again, and the price of a good piece of steak had nearly hit ninety dollars.

I get that it is magical or whatever, but fuck me that’s an entire days wage for some people, if they are lucky anyways.

Regardless of the price, Mark knew it’d be worth it. Especially as a treat he had once a month or so.

He’d gotten home and almost immediately began cooking it on a mini-grill over his stove. Shaped like a grill but the size of a pan the device wasn’t magical at all, but the food he made with it sometimes made him second guess that fact every time.

One of the biggest benefits of Altered meat, from any animal, was that it was delicious. Far better in every way than even the most expensive or curated meats available pre-invasion. There were many people who viewed adding non-Altered ingredients to the meat a downgrade in of itself. Mark wasn’t one of those people, but he did limit it compared to what he would normally put on a steak.

As he was cooking he’d had the television on in the background, capable of watching it while cooking. He’d practically been addicted to the crime show he’d started watching, even if it was bargain bin at best. Years of not watching anything not related to the news or fighting would do that to a man.

As he finally finished grilling the meat his phone pinged out from the living room table, figuring it was just a message from one of his ‘friends’ he ignored it before plating his food and getting a bottle of iced tea from the fridge.

Walking over to his couch he began digging into the steak with his fork and knife, and nearly died of happiness when he finally got a taste of it. I wish I could eat this stuff every damn day, the fact it’s so expensive is a crime against humanity.

He had to actively restrain himself from eating it all in just a few seconds, so he sliced another thin piece off and began chewing it while flicking through his phone.

Spam, spam, Donovan asking me if I want any ‘cheap Solece dolls’, no I am not a child anymore, spam, who the hell is Marela?

Confused over how some random person had gotten his number, he opened the message with intent to delete it before the first line caught his eye,

I hear you’re looking for a car? I got a 2 seater, 3k miles, 5k. This was followed by an obviously eastern styled street name that pinned it as an east side fight.

The message was enough for him, although he was irritated she hadn’t just used the intermediary like most people. How many people had she texted about hiring for a fight only to have them delete the damn message because they didn’t know her? The message was an understandable code, one that the Intermediary used all the time. “I have a car here, 2 seater, 4k miles, only 2k.” followed by the address of the pits. It was basic, and the reason an intermediary was used was because if one person constantly gets messages from a friend asking if they need a replacement for their old vehicle it wasn’t all that uncommon. After all, the car might have been junk or he might have not been able to afford it, which was getting more common every day in the city.

When one person who hasn’t advertised they need a vehicle, like Mark, suddenly gets calls from a dozen people every week about vehicles in very obvious code it becomes suspicious to any of the cyber security forces the government routinely employs. And while they might not expect pit fights they’ll definitely expect something worse, that being drugs, or cartel activity.

Coupling this with Intermediaries generally using burner phones or different cells for different fighters it made it more difficult for anyone to get caught for it, not to say it doesn’t happen of course.

The codes and answers were always really simple as well, so no one could fuck em up. A two seater meant a one on one fight, three thousand miles meant three thousand dollars of payout, and two grand as a price actually meant you had to arrive at two in the morning.

Generally if you wanted to decline a fight you just came up with a relative reason, the car is too expensive, you don’t want a certain brand, whatever. Accepting a deal was the exact same, you say you’re on your way and the Intermediary confirms you as a fighter.

Now, there were people who accepted deals and then didn’t show up, but unless they had a good reason - like being dead, they generally didn’t get the chance to do it again. Namely because they get their shit kicked in, or blacklisted by that Intermediary.

The biggest issue he’d ever had from Pit fights always came from these types, the ones that go around Intermediaries to try and hire him. While the Intermediaries did take a small cut for finding someone, usually ten percent of the fighters pay from the Pits pockets, it always screamed of desperation. If they weren’t willing to even pay the person whose job it was to keep everyone clean, why bother fighting for them?

However, I do need the money.

Deliberating whether or not to even answer he looked down at his cooling steak and committed a rather stupid mistake that would probably come back to bite him, he texted her ‘sure’ before tossing the phone aside.

If things go well, I buy myself another one of these steaks, if they don’t go well I do it anyway.

What's the worst that can happen?

----

Why the fuck did I agree to this shit.

He had been furious the moment he’d arrived at the Pit he was meant to fight at. The second he showed up on the street he’d had a bad feeling, made only worse when he actually got to the building. While Pit’s weren’t known for being places of class the one in front of him was practically a hole in the ground. While the last pit he’d been to had the decency to use the cover of a game house to run their business, the one in front of him now was practically just a brick building.

The building was in the warehouse district for the east side, meaning plenty of large open buildings, barely any witnesses and even less Beaters around to cause issues. This was also an issue because it meant if he was forced to leg it there was barely anywhere to go besides the outer city limits, as the path to the inner city was most likely guarded. On the plus side there was plenty of parking, even with the dozens of vehicles already stationed around the massive warehouse with barely visible party lights shining under the massive doors.

They didn’t even bother setting up a facade, meaning this is a ‘Carnival’ Pit. No wonder the messenger went around the Intermediary, probably either too broke or too weak of a leader to actually get in touch with one properly. How’d they get my number then? Possibly just an old ‘employer’ who gave it to them when asked if they knew any baselines who won fights more than lost them. Goddessdamnit.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Physically flinching at the unintentional curse he began parking his car behind the building where the vast majority of other people had parked theirs.

Goddess, I hope someone doesn’t steal my shit.

Build and go Pits were as the name said. You spent a few hours setting up lights, moving the product and people, then you set up whatever rings or games you had in store for your customers. Once you had spent enough time that it began being dangerous for you to stay, either because of Beaters or rival gangs you moved. Generally these pits only lasted a week or so before packing up and moving, like some kind of fucked up circus.

As he looked around he spotted a small door built beside one of the warehouse's main ones, with a rather thin looking man seemingly guarding it. Probably a magic caster, or some other kind of Altered. Doubt they’d have some small baseline working the door for this place.

He began walking towards the door, weaving between different vehicles as he got closer before stopping in front of the man. The small man looked him up and down before seemingly staring into space and nodding him in. Not a magic caster, psychic of some kind? Maybe Technomage with camera’s or some shit around here? Smarter than you’d think from the bullshit before, but whatever.

As the man stepped aside to let him in the door opened automatically, and the lack of sound coupled with the very obvious crowd of people proved that the place at the very least had some kind of sound dampening magic or technology. It gets more difficult every year to tell the two apart.

Stepping inside and passing two very doped up Bruisers guarding the door he looked around for a second before finding the Pits, or at least the domes of the Pits.

While buried Pits weren’t all that common, since it required a lot of digging, and you couldn’t lie to any Beaters that came by that it was just a boxing ring instead of a giant fighting hole, they generally weren’t used as often. More work for less pay is a shit choice for anyone, especially people focused only on the money.

Hate these things, always a bitch to get out of after the fight is over if you have a messed up leg or arm.

Beginning his walk over he dodged a few more drunk people, before nearly getting bulldozed by a Bruiser very obviously high out of his mind on something strong enough to actually affect him. Doing his best to keep his disturbance of the ‘customers’ to a minimum he finally made it to the side of the Pit where he could see inside of it. Inside there was nothing but some kind of white dust and a lot of disturbed ground. They couldn’t even properly flatten the damn hole. Just think of the money Mark, the money.

Sighing in annoyance he began walking along the outer edges, looking around the Pit for one of the runners so they would know he had arrived.

Usually they are rather obvious, just a dude in a massive flashy coat or a woman surrounded by guards. Are they hiding somewhere?

As he followed the edge of the Pits he heard, or more accurately felt, someone walking up behind him. Turning to face whoever was causing the small earthquake he was met with someone easily nine feet tall and covered in scales. Altered took many forms, while most were only slightly mutated compared to your average person, the more powerful Altereds almost always had some form of mutation. Scales, chitin, claws, skin colors that make previous racial issues look like a bad joke, and most common for Bruisers, height.

Blue scales, nine feet tall, and bearing the resemblance more akin to an armadillo than a person. Oh fuck a B-Class Altered, what the fuck is he doing in a place like this? Any of the more major groups would rally behind him, let alone him working for someone here.

As Mark had frozen the Bruiser grabbed him and started dragging him towards the other side of the building. What is with Bruisers being so hands on lately?

Near the middle of the room the Bruiser had just dropped pretenses and picked him up, before continuing his unimpeded march towards his boss. It had taken them walking round a group of narcotics sellers before he finally got a look at the person in charge.

Ah fuck.

Covered in gang tattoos resembling the old Chinese dragons and writing that he couldn’t understand was a woman who was very obviously annoyed with the people around her. A woman Pit boss, shit. Contrary to popular belief, women were not always the gentlest of people, shocking right? Female crime bosses even more so. They generally had to get their way into this life somehow, and not everyone is willing to follow someone they deem as weaker than them, so to substitute the appearance of weakness many of them adopted far more cruel and brutal methodology in an attempt to scare people into not questioning them. You would think this wouldn’t be required nowadays, when a woman who is barely five feet tall could knock a building down on your head and end your entire empire in a moment, but people were slow to learn.

As she looked towards the walking earthquake carrying a very obviously subdued Mark, she gave a cold smile before speaking in Chinese and the people around her left.

Dropping him onto the ground in front of her, Mark stood up straight and rubbed his arm where the Bruiser had grabbed him. Fucker would of broken the arm of a baseline, goddamn idiot.

As he stood in front of the Pit boss the lady gave him a once over before gesturing towards the Pit. “I hear you are a good fighter, so you will be the main attraction. Baselines such as yourself always make a good spectacle against our champion.” The way she said baseline made it sound more like a slur than anything, which wasn’t all that uncommon amongst Altereds.

Giving her a small nod he figured out pretty quickly what was going on, they ran gladiator fights. Like the games of old, Gladiator Pit Fights were generally between one Altered and several baselines.

Thankfully these were usually much safer fights than you’d assume. Fight goes on, he makes a few showy plays for the win, then he gets hit by someone much stronger and goes down. The Altereds usually made the effort not to kill you outright as cleaning up a body was more hassle than paying the fighter, or just telling them to fuck off afterwards for not putting up a good enough show.

Even if a baseline wants to start trouble for not getting paid, how is someone so weak going to cause a problem around people who employ someone capable of beating them with ease. And with a carnival Pit like this they’d probably move after a day or so, meaning there was almost no chance the Beaters would be able to get their hands on them even if the baseline snitched after getting ripped off. Of course there weren’t many idiots stupid enough to do so, after all it's easier to take the loss of cash and some bruises over getting a visit by an Altered a week later who burns your house to the ground.

Looking behind him towards the Pit he gestured with a thumb and asked “So, when is the fight? The message said two in the morning, but I can wait another hour at the bar if you want.”

The woman nodded to the Bruiser behind me and he grabbed me again before dragging me back towards the Pit. I can fucking walk you lumbering cock. Of course he was careful not to actually say that out loud. Regardless of his job, Bruisers with so many mutations tended to have short tempers.

As they finally reached the Pit he prepared to climb down, only for the Bruiser to simply toss him inside like old garbage.

Hitting the ground with a meaty thud he began picking himself up while promising himself he’d never work in the east side again.

Standing up he looked around the Pit for the ‘champion’ he was supposed to be fighting against, until his eyes wandered over a metal gate. Made of old prison bars he could hardly look inside, until a large snout the side of his torso peered out.

No.

Standing at roughly five feet tall on all fours was an adult Dire Wolf. With pure white fur, covering its body from nose to tail, the beast was easily two or three times Mark’s size. With black claws and glistening white teeth as it growled at him, or the cage it was stuck inside, it paced back and forth waiting for its next meal.

No no no no no.

As he backed into the wall and looked up to find a way out an electric net was thrown over the top and activated.

No way out. I should have never come to the east side.

---------

Looking down upon the world her master had charged her with overseeing, or more accurately the new Champion, she watched as the little creature made an even bigger mess for himself, and her.

He couldn’t even wait?

A few more hours, a prayer, and some sleep and her master would have easily gifted him the cure, instead he rushes off to another chance of death like a fool.

She’ll be furious if he dies…

The predicament was one she had to think hard on. Regardless of his status as a future Champion, he still hadn’t joined their flock. And unsanctioned raids on one of her master’s worlds would result in harsh punishments when she was eventually caught.

She’d be even more furious if he died under my watch however…

As she watched the man fumble on the ground, only barely recognizing the beast in the cage she deliberated for a few more moments before deciding.

I cannot allow one of our own to die like this, it’s insulting and degrading for our whole order. However I also cannot directly interfere and ruin the plans of Virasuta. So I will give him a… push in the right direction so to speak. He is already touched by Virasuta, so amplifying it a small amount shouldn’t hurt.

If he cannot even survive with the help of a Goddess then he doesn’t deserve salvation regardless.

She watched as the door blocking the beast from him slowly opened, and began preparations for her new brother's salvation.

The things I do for her.

With wings unfurling behind her she began her casting in full.