The metallic stench of blood and flesh hit Zeirdin as he turned the corner. Rusty-red carnage covered the street like the trail of a mad painter. The few neon lights reflected off the blood adding bright highlights to the grotesque painting. Zeirdin counted nine bodies, worry blooming in his chest. Rauli’s restaurant sign was not lit, and no lights were on. A few bullet holes dotted the front of the building. Zeirdin tip-toed around the pools of blood, stepping over bodies like bags of meat. Carnage and gore no longer affected him the same way it once used to. Zeirdin felt sicker knowing how desensitized he was to it. He knocked on the front door to no response.
“Hello? Anyone alive?” Still no response. Zeirdin frowned. He was getting more worried by the second. Zeirdin noticed faint candlelight out of the corner of his eye. There, on the second floor, soft light shone through the curtains dimly. Worth a shot? Rauli’s restaurant provided him ample handholds, with numerous sturdy pipes and cables.
With little effort, he scaled the building and reached the sill of the lit window. Zeirdin tapped on the window several times with the knuckle of his index finger. To his relief, he heard rustling and the creaking of floorboards come from within the room. The curtains wriggled before a pale face peered through. Recognition briefly flitted across her face before Lumia opened the window.
“What the hell happened here?” Zeirdin asked, sparing no time. He hung onto the side of the building with his fingers hooked around a water drainage groove. The fragrance of lavender wafted out of the room.
“Come, come in first,” Lumia rubbed her tired eyes. Zeirdin heaved himself over the window sill and into the room. The front side of his T-shirt and pants were damp. He rubbed the moisture from the gutter off on his pants.
“Agh. Did anyone get hurt? What happened? Where’s Rauli?”
“One question at a time please… aaah, I still have a headache,” Lumia pinched her forehead.
“Sorry,” Zeirdin responded meekly.
“Hey, you cut your hair.”
“Astute observation there.”
Lumia flopped backward onto her bed. The candle at the bedside table flickered, “Don’t worry, no one was hurt. At least no one innocent, I think it was a territory dispute.”
“That’s, that’s a relief,” Zeirdin sat on the floor.
“Rauli, she’s fine. Her daughter too. They’re praying in the courtyard.”
“Praying?”
“They’re Yedokan.” Zeirdin back stared blankly, not wanting to sound dumb. “Aha, I didn’t know about it either until I met her. They pray to Yedo the sun god every day when the sun is at its zenith in Huuxle. I’m not sure how they know.” Zeirdin vaguely remembered hearing something of the sort before.
“Well, I guess that’s uncommon. Hard to find someone in the Tower whose god is something other than money and power,” Zeirdin picked at his cuticle. Lumia nodded.
“They’re kind folk. This viper den isn’t the place for them,” She looked wistfully at the ceiling. Rauli, like countless other people who entered the Tower, didn’t have the drive, power, or capability for violence to ever leave the Tower. It was the brutal truth. The Tower was a graveyard of dreams. Yet for many, the glimpse alone was enough. Laurentia was a mess, still burdened with the aftermath of the Cataclysm. Permanent residency inside the Tower was better than dying in a ditch.
“So why are the lights off?” Zeirdin wondered, gesturing to the fluttering candle.
“I like candles and it smells nice, that’s really it,” Lumia answered nonchalantly.
Zeirdin fumbled with his hand in his pocket, “I signed up for BB18,” Zeirdin said as he pulled a folded flyer out of his pocket. “Grabbed this thing off of a wall.”
BLOOD BRAWL 18
The biggest organized annual brawl of the lower 20 Floors has arrived!
Contestants are not permitted to use weapons! Everything else goes!
Rounds end when either contestant is too maimed to continue, dead, or forfeits.
1st Place Prize: 578,000 Dynats + Floor 8 Lake mansion (Valued at 400,000 dynats) + Permanent VIP status at all Lexon facilities in the Tower
2nd Place Prize: 340,000 Dynats + Permanent VIP status at all Lexon facilities in the Tower
3rd Place Prize: 210,000 Dynats + 1 Year VIP status at all Lexon facilities in the Tower
4th Place Prize: 120,000 Dynats
5th Place Prize: 75,000 Dynats
Contestants placed 10-6th will receive 23,000 Dynats
Contestants placed 20-11th will receive 10,000 Dynats
Zeirdin’s jaw dropped at the staggering volume of currency that would be changing hands at the event. It was no wonder the event had gotten so massive. Zeirdin had severely underestimated the wealth of Tennia by more than a few orders of magnitude.
“Holy shit.”
“Hmm? Lemme see,” Lumia limped over to Zeirdin. Her eyes widened. “I thought I miscounted a zero when I saw these posters before.”
“No shit. Think I can place top 10?”
“I have no idea. I think this competition draws more than a few monsters. Do you know what your CS is now? I can tell just by your lack of leaking mana that you’re surpassed me by quite a bit,” Lumia scratched her nose.
Zeirdin chuckled, “I have no idea. At least someone’s finally noticed my hard work. Also, check this out,” Zeirdin danced, skipped, and jogged in place. His feet made no audible sound. The floorboards creaked slightly, but that was it.
“That’s impressive and scary. I don’t want to what you had to go through to develop that skill,” Lumia shuddered slightly.
“Ha, that’s good because I would rather not remember...” Zeirdin tried to make light of the dark sentiment before trailing off. Lumia was skilled and experienced enough to know that everything came with a price. And that prices were not always tangible. Lumia didn’t know where Zeirdin’s strength stood exactly, but from observing his new mannerisms, body language, and confidence, she had a decent guess. She estimated that he was nearing the realm of a ‘monster’, or already past it. The term was vague yet accurate. Something that wasn’t quite human. Something that instilled terror.
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“Could you fill up my water bottle downstairs?” Lumia asked, pointing to the metal cylinder lying on the floor next to the bed. “For lack of a better word, my ankle is fucked.”
“Yeah, no problem,” Zeirdin picked up the bottle and headed for the door.
“I don’t mean to make you an errand boy or anythin-.”
“Do I get it from the big barrel?” Zeirdin asked.
“Yeah, it’s nice and cold.” The door creaked and Zeirdin left the room. The dining hall of the restaurant below was deserted and dark. The metal barrel of water was on top of the dish drop-off counter. He pulled the lever and cool water trickled out. The swish and click of a door opening came from the direction of the kitchen. Zeirdin looked over to see Rauli step into the restaurant area followed by Faula.
“My, I didn’t know you were here,” Rauli smiled.
“Ah, sorry, I knocked but no one answered. I sorta let myself in through the second-story window,” Zeirdin replied, both hands busy with his water boy task.
“My apologies, we were praying and didn’t hear you. If you need anything, we are going to be preparing for the evening rush down here,” Rauli put her hand on Faula’s shoulder. Zeirdin thanked them for their hospitality before returning back up the stairs with the water. Zeirdin knocked before entering Lumia’s room.
“Thanks a lot,” Lumia said gratefully before chugging half the container.
“Yeah, no problem. I would say to let me know if you need anything, but I don’t have a biotablet yet.” Zeirdin looked at the clock through the window on the other side of the street. “Oh, shit shit shit shit, I misreeadd it!” He scrambled to the window, “Catch up with you later,” before hastily opening it and leaping out. He was going to be late for his first qualifying match. All he knew was the Harlok House was somewhere on the southern section of the Redstrip.
Zeirdin rubbed the sweat off of his clammy hands on his pants. His eyes ached as they struggled to adjust to the strong overhead lights above the ring. The dull roar produced by the crowd of a few hundred filled his ears. The stink of alcohol, various body odors, and smoke filled the air. The Harlok House seemed to be a better-funded establishment than where Zeirdin fought the day before. The lighting was adequate and there was even a “bar”. The “bar” was a table with two industrial drums of grain alcohol and a keg of beer.
“Ladies and geeeentlemen, welcome to yet another Blood Brawl qualifier match! We barely schedule these! Please finish quickly!” The announcer boomed over the speakers. The crowd cheered in agreement.
“In the orange corner, we have Keet! Hailing from Floor 7, he’s an experienced tower climber! He stands at, I can’t read this number at all. He is level 1 and has a combat score of 113,” The announcer slurred more than a few words. Zeirdin estimated he was about five drinks in. Keet stood opposite Zeirdin.
Keet was a wiry man that stood a half head taller than Zeirdin. The skinny man fidgeted every couple of seconds while muttering something unintelligible to himself. Zeirdin couldn’t help but notice that his fingernails were metallic and black. Red sores and stubble covered his gray face. Crude tattoos ran up his neck and around his jaw. Judging from the man’s black fingernails and sores, he was probably a long-time crimp. Crimps earned their name from the method that they ingested the drug, or rather the specific method of combining them. Blue wire was crimped together with a thin length of flinch. The resulting reaction caused both materials to aerosolize before being inhaled. The aerosolized metals then accumulated within the tissue of the user.
“In the red corner, we have Zeerdim! This contestant left everything that was optional blank on his sign-up form! Apparently, he caused quite an uproar at Hank’s the other day! That’s all we know! I don’t have anything else to say! Three, two, just go already-,” The sound of the mic tumbling boomed through the speakers, followed by a loud belch and swearing.
“-Sir, are you alrigh-,” The voice could be heard faintly through the speakers.
“Shit, shit shit, I’m fine, give me my flask bac-,” The mic cut out and a few people snickered around the crowd.
Zeirdin didn’t know whether to start or not, and neither did his opponent. They locked eyes for a moment before looking around the crowd for an answer. Zeirdin was surprised that Keet hadn’t tried to bite him yet. A moment later the mic came back on.
“We apologize for the interruption. The match will commence once the bell has rung three times,” A younger, sober voice replacing the first announcer.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
Keet didn’t hesitate as he dropped onto all fours and dashed towards Zeirdin.
“Keet w-wants his red, K-keet wants his blue,” Keet hissed over and over again. Zeirdin guessed he was referring to wire and flinch. It was a bizarre sight seeing a grown man hissing on all fours. Zeirdin let Keet close the distance. The wiry yemlin man leaped toward Zeirdin’s face, propelled by powerful legs. The man was an animal. Zeirdin fell into full autopilot, dodging every strike and scratch. It was a familiar routine, one he’d performed countless times in the jungle before he was strong enough to deal with yemlins head-on. He would dodge and evade until he received a decent blow, then he would go on the offensive and “pummel the shit out of them”.
“Shhhhhhaaa, get him Keet!” Keet shouted enthusiastically with each strike. “S-stop, stop moving!” Although it was pitiful, it was amusing in a sick way. Keet swung a wild right haymaker. Zeirdin stepped backward out of its path. He had to admit that Keet was strong. By combat score alone, he was about three times stronger than the average human. That number didn’t put into account Keet’s utter lack of self-preservation that made him infinitely more dangerous. Keet seemed to be getting a little frustrated.
“Keet w-wants his red, K-keet wants his blue,” He began to chant it quicker. Zeirdin kept dancing around his blows like a feather in the wind.
“Does Keet want green?” Zeirdin toyed with him. He was curious. Did Keet want green?
“No, no no! Ick ick ick. No green for Keet sir,” He yipped between strikes. Keet’s sheer cardiovascular endurance was inhuman. The crimp had been throwing full-power attacks without stopping for almost two minutes. A left hook whooshed over Zeirdin’s head, which was a distraction while Keet tried to bite his knee. Zeirdin noticed almost too late. Forcefully jump-starting his mana into circulation, he jerked his knee back just in time. The air was pierced by the clack of Keet’s teeth biting air. The man was unwell but an instinctual fighter. If given proper training, this man could be a menace to Level 2s and 3s despite being a Level 1.
Suddenly the world turned upside down. Pain erupted in Zeirdin's ankle as he spun in the air. Zeirdin’s mind ran into overdrive as he tried to make sense of the situation. Where did it come from? It made no sense. It was a double feint. Fuck! His first mistake was treating Keet like a yemlin.
Keet was as fast, vicious, tenacious, and as flexible as a yemlin, but he was superior. Keet had experience fighting humans. His second mistake was assuming that Keet had a normal range of motion. The yemlin man had delivered the leg sweep from a low contorted position that wasn’t possible for most humans. At least with that power.
Zeirdin braced himself as his back collided with the sheet metal of the ring floor with a crash. Before he could right himself, Keet was already on top of Zeirdin. The man buried his teeth into Zeirdin’s shoulder.
“FUCK, what the hell,” Zeirdin shouted, shoulder burning and gushing with blood. Keet didn’t let go as he began to rain down blows. He was completely unpredictable. Zeirdin had to end the match before Keet somehow became a powerful Lovac user and pulverized his skull. Zeirdin allotted mana to his right arm as he put his hand around Keet’s neck and began to squeeze. Keet reacted immediately, jerking away. His instincts were spot on.
“Danger Keet, the boy is danger, Keet!” He muttered, standing on all fours two meters away. His left eye twitched randomly. Zeirdin leaped up into a standing position. From this moment on, Keet was much more cautious. He switched from an unrelenting onslaught of attacks to a hit-and-run strategy.
Keet dashed forward with a left scratch. Zeirdin sidestepped into another low leg kick, barely hopping over it. Ok, enough is enough. I hope this doesn’t get infected, Zeirdin thought to himself. He didn’t want to permanently injure Keet. He was interesting and a great fighter. Zeirdin flared up his mana circulation. Energy coursed through his entire body like a torrent of water. The air around Zeirdin shimmered slightly, invisible to most onlookers.
“Danger, d-danger Keet. R-run Keet! The, t-the boy is a demon,” Keet chattered, as he tried to make as much distance as possible. Zeirdin dashed to the right, cutting him off. Keet cowered like a cornered mouse. Unlike a mouse, Keet went ballistic. He charged towards Zeirdin, arms swinging, teeth gnashing. Holy crap, I didn’t know he could go faster. Zeirdin met the whirlwind of nails and teeth head-on. Zeirdin wanted Keet to have a taste of his own medicine.
First, Zeirdin threw a jab. Keet tweaked to the side. Connected to the jab was a cross. Being experienced in hand-to-hand combat, Keet saw it coming and dodged again. Nothing unexpected. The cross still extended, collapsed into an elbow strike that hooked over the man’s defenses and straight into his face. Keet did not expect it. Zeirdin’s elbow connected with Keet’s chin with a loud crack. Zeirdin wasn’t done yet. Before Keet could collapse to the ground, he threw an uppercut into his stomach. Zeirdin’s fist dug into the man’s stomach. Finally, Zeirdin swept Keet’s legs from under him, ending the devastating combo. The four-strike combination was thrown all within the duration of one second.
Keet fell to the ground with a thump, completely limp. The yemlin man was completely unconscious. The crowd erupted into a loud cheer. It had been an exhilarating match to watch.
“That concludes this exciting match! Zeirdin wins by knockout!”