◆Roque (Continued Even More)◆

“Wait, none of them are actually Fiends,” Tusmon muttered a second after they entered the underground gambling den. It wasn’t entirely obvious at first, but his Cursed eye picked up on a few inconsistencies right away—wigs, colored contacts, fake tattoos, anything that could be used for ‘illegal impersonation’. And many of the so-called Fiends were clearly designed to be others he knew, basically cosplayers of the world’s most popular and well-renowned criminals.

“Good eye, detective,” Roque remarked rhetorically, clear sarcasm in his voice. “Yes, they’re all fake, but that’s part of the fun. This is an underground fighting ring, and today is ‘Fiend Day’. Most will dress up as their favorite Fiends and fight each other, re-enacting whatever battles they or the betters want to see play out. While many others will become their own take on Fiends, who they’d be if they became Cursed like us. It’s one of their most popular events, and it rakes in the cash. So let’s go get signed up!”

“What, you’re saying we’re fighting?!” the detective immediately protested.

“Of course!” Roque smirked. “You might think it cheating since we’re actual Fiends, but there’s nothing in the rules preventing it. And in this kind of place, you do whatever you can get away with to win. I know I got you riled up, so don’t you want to blow off some steam? Punch a criminal in the face, no holding back? And you don’t even have to bet since you’ll get part of the pool if you win.”

“You’re going to force me to do it anyways,” The Investigator groaned. “So sure, I’ll take you on.”

“Wonderful!” The Swindler pushed the man through the crowd over to the registration booth. He stepped forward first, speaking to the clerk for a minute, and then stepped aside.

“Love your Tusmon getup, honey,” the clerk immediately said to the man as soon as he approached the window. “Lot of these people don’t put enough pride in their performance or costumes, but you’ve got the look down. And I guess you like playing the heel. Good money in that if you win. Got a fighting name?”

“Uhh, I’m Detective Tusmon,” he didn’t know how else to introduce himself.

“Course you are, sweety!” the woman didn’t even bat and eye and clacked a few keys at her screen. “You hold onto that fire. Here’s your number. Head to waiting room B, we’ll call you when you’re ready.”

“Wait, I’m supposed to fight—” the man began to argue but the clerk cut him off.

“Don’t worry, your friend here has it all taken care of. Good luck, I’ll be rooting for you.”

“Alright then,” Tusmon stepped aside so the next person in line could be helped, and then he started scouting around, eventually seeing a flashing ‘B’ on the other side of the crowd. “Guess we’re heading to separate rooms,” the detective briefly conferred with Roque before they parted ways.

Pushing through the crowd was slow-going, but the man eventually got a glimpse of what they were all gawking at. It was a caged fighting arena, with closed-off tunnels that lead into each waiting room. Through that system, no one could interfere with the fights. Even the referee was in a secondary cage with a gate to the main one so they could remain protected and out of the way. Just how bad did these fights get?

As soon as Tusmon stepped into Waiting Room B, he was immediately frisked by the guard without warning. “No Weapons,” the burly man spoke plain, nicking the detective’s gun faster than any pickpocket, and then he turned around and started walking away with it.

“Wait, you can’t just take that!” Tusmon stomped after him. Even though he no longer reported to anyone, in the officer’s mind, having his gun stolen was a serious offense that should never be allowed to happen.

But the man kept walking, eventually tucking the gun into an open locker. He turned to Tusmon and asked, “Anything else, phone, wallet? Only fists are allowed. If you want to fight with weapons, come back during weapon’s week. Locker will be secured. Only you can open it. If you die, we incinerate it.”

Since the detective had already been humiliated, he didn’t resist further, handing over his personal belongings along with his hidden baton and stun gun. The guard seemed a little annoyed with himself that he hadn’t found them during the first pat down, grunting as he stowed them away. He then had Tusmon place his hand on the locker’s scanner, securing it tight to his prints.

The agitated officer then had nothing to do but wait, sitting in a corner, bouncing his leg impatiently. He watched the number counter go up, increasing steadily until his assigned fight. They were still a ways off, but the fights seemed to go rather quickly. Either the fighters who left the waiting room came back with smug looks on their faces, or beaten to bloody pulps. And more than once, they came back unconscious—or dead—he didn’t really want to know.

Then finally the man’s number was called. He didn’t even hesitate like so many of the other fights, immediately heading into the caged tunnel without a shred of nervousness. On the short walk to the main cage, he got a weird mix of taunts and cheers. He was often seen as an antagonist in the Fiend community, so he was used to the hate. But people actually excited to see him was new, or maybe they just wanted to see him get his ass beaten to shreds. Too bad he’d have to disappoint them.

“Tusmon!” was announced over the venue’s audio system. The detective hadn’t been paying attention to the spiel but chimed in when he heard his own name. But then the announcer started making up some weird backstory as to why he was there, so the man tuned it out again.

He kept his eye on the other tunnel, waiting for Roque to appear. But The Swindler was taking his sweet time. Had he chickened out, or worse, ditched the man after putting him in a compromising situation?

“Hey there bud!” It was neither, as Tusmon whirled his head to find Roque right next to him, just outside the cage. “Yeah, sorry if you were under the impression that I’d be the one you were fighting. Not that I did anything to dissuade that notion. Or you can say I just straight lied. But don’t worry, I’ve lined up a great fight for you, actually the best one. And don’t let me down, alright. I bet a small fortune on you.”

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Right on cue, lights began flashing and a spotlight appeared at the opposite tunnel’s entrance. The announcer then began the introduction. “Does Tusmon think that he can win against the champion? She’s won the past fifteen Fiend Days straight, will she finally be taken down, put in her place by the police?! Make some noise for The Victorious Vixen!”

Tusmon’s face dropped in confusion and annoyance. There was no way it was actually her, right? The titles were different—Victorious instead of Vivacious—though Phon would hate it regardless.

To his utter relief, no, it wasn’t Phon Drazah. But his opponent that stepped out still left cause for concern. It was the second biggest woman he’d ever seen in the world, essentially looking like Itsy in Phon cosplay. The behemoth woman was still shorter than The Wrecking Ball by a few inches, but she towered over everyone else in the room.

After just a few heavy stomps, The Victorious Vixen had made it to the arena, holding her arms up to the massive cheers from all those in attendance, even Roque who was supposed to be on the detective’s side.

When she got closer, the man got a good look at her outfit. It was basically a carbon copy of Phon’s, even the size, to the point that it was far too short for the woman and looked like the seams could tear at any second. But it prominently displayed the woman’s incredibly toned abs and her rotund muscular legs. It gave a terrifying impression of what Phon could become if the woman actually got into proper weight training.

The woman even had Phon’s hair down perfectly. Though an obvious wig, it looked like it had been ripped straight from the actual Vixen’s head. The only main difference in the costume was that the woman had an oddly long towel draped around her neck. Going down so far in length that it touched both of her knees. What was that for? Was she just abnormally sweaty?

“Ah, Tusmon you bastard!” the woman didn’t give him much time to ponder, already getting into the roleplaying side of the event. “You’ve harassed us for too long, so now I’m going to put you down for good!” She held up both fists and took a boxer’s stance.

But unfortunately for her, the detective had been professionally trained in the same style along with a few other mixed-martial arts. It wasn’t standard police training, but he’d hired private coaches to further improve himself in his free time. So he knew all the moves and how to prepare himself for the flurry of fists about to come his way.

The fake Vixen didn’t waste his time, trying to immediately shut him down with a sudden right hook. Tusmon took the hit, blocking it with both arms. It hurt like hell and was strong enough to push him back on his feet. The punch was far too brutal for a human, even one of her build, so she had to be at least a Lesser under the fake purple contacts.

He was then pelted with a softer flurry of blows, each one with less weight than the last, but it was still a pain to endure. This time, though, he managed to hold his ground. “Not bad, new meat,” the faux Phon offered a sliver of praise. “Let’s see you block this.”

She took a step back and then rushed towards him. Instead of punching at him from the front, she swung with both arms from each side, almost like a big ole hug, but aiming for his head instead, trying to crush his skull like a melon.

Tusmon threw up both hands grabbing the woman’s fists, stopping them dead in their tracks. If he was still a Lesser, he wouldn’t have stood a chance, and certainly wouldn’t have been able to stand against this woman’s fighting ability. But the jump in strength when becoming a Fiend was stupid in comparison. Even though she outclassed him with every ounce of muscle, stopping her barely caused him to strain.

The shock on the fake Vixen’s face was almost enjoyable. Tusmon dug in his fingers, starting to crush the woman’s hands as he pushed back, shoving her right to where she started as they broke away, her shoulders slamming against the cage.

“Damn you, Tusmon,” phony Phon crumpled for a second before standing back up, as strong and determined as ever. “I always knew you’d be the toughest adversary for me to overcome. But I’ll never let you take me into custody!”

She really was playing into the role, the detective had to admit. But was that really how they viewed the relationship between him and the Drazahs—bitter rivals? It certainly was his dream for a long time to put them away, something he’d pursued by any means necessary. But he felt he’d mostly flown under the radar, not garnering the attention of the masses except for the biggest Fiend fanatics.

It was still a bit shocking whenever he was recognized. And this woman understanding his overall dynamic in the grand scheme of things was another wake-up call of how he was viewed. He never wanted to be famous, but at the very least, he was seen as on-par with his enemies. And that, he had to admit, felt a little good.

The woman suddenly pulled up the long towel that had been wrapped around her neck, and she started dangling it in front of herself, covering her whole body, as if she was about to perform a magic trick. “Now you’ll have to face my Teleporting Fist!”

Victorious Vixen shuffled her way closer to Tusmon, rattling the towel to make it look more mysterious. Then suddenly, the outline of a fist indented into the towel, headed right for the man. It admittedly and ashamedly caught him off-guard. But he managed to duck off to one side. But then a followup fist came from a seemingly random direction.

While it surely looked incredibly stupid from the woman’s end of things, it was a surprisingly effective tactic. If he couldn’t see the attack coming, his reaction times were slowed greatly. Even a Fiend’s thick skin wouldn’t save him from one good blow to the head. It probably wouldn’t kill him, but he’d still lose the fight.

After Tusmon managed to successfully dodge every ‘random’ strike thrown at him, the hand holding the towel let go. Then came a relentless barrage from behind the sheet. The fake Vixen punched with all of her might, as fast as her arms would go. Accuracy went entirely out of the equation, just more punches. The woman was able to keep the sheet afloat purely from the velocity of her fists, and she steadily stomped in Tusmon’s direction, trying to corner him.

Instead of trying to block or dodge, the detective lunged forward. He grabbed the towel and slid it around one of the woman’s flailing arms, making sure to stay just out of reach of her attacks. The man then juked behind her before she could realize what he’d done and pulled hard.

Phony Phon’s entangled arm was jerked behind her, and Tusmon wrapped it up further so that she wouldn’t be able to break free. The woman then swung her other arm back, trying to hit the man behind her, but he’d been waiting for it. With the still loose ends of the towel, he nabbed the other arm as it came flying. A few more tugs, and he’d secured it as well.

Then with one solid kick to the back of her knees, the huge woman went tumbling forward, landing on her stomach. Tusmon then shoved one of his shoes into the flat of her back, keeping her down as he finished up his work—fashioning the towel into a pair of makeshift handcuffs that fully bound the woman's arms.

Then to properly secure her, the man knelt down, pressing into the woman’s back and legs with both of his knees, ensuring that she couldn’t escape. The crowd had gone fairly silent, unsure what to make of what was happening, so Tusmon spouted the only thing he could think to say. “The arrest has been made.”