CHAPTER 9: INTO THE SHADOWS
Tempo's body ached as he slumped against the cold concrete bench in the battleground’s locker room. His shoulder throbbed from Iron Grin’s final blow, and every breath felt like sandpaper scraping his lungs. The air reeked of stale sweat and disinfectant, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood.
He should’ve felt victorious. The cheers of the crowd still echoed faintly beyond the walls, but they brought no satisfaction. His mind lingered on the conduits glowing beneath the arena and the haunting laugh that had chilled him to the bone.
“What is this place?” he muttered, his voice barely audible.
Before he could lose himself in thought, the locker room door creaked open. Tempo snapped his head up, tensing, his instincts kicking in. His muscles screamed in protest, but he was ready for a fight—until he saw the wiry man standing nervously in the doorway.
“Uh, Ace?” the man stammered. He held a tablet close to his chest, his thin frame half-hidden behind it. “You’ve got... an offer. From management.”
Tempo raised an eyebrow, forcing himself to sit up straighter despite the pain. “Management?”
The man nodded quickly, stepping closer and holding out the tablet. “They want you in the main event tomorrow. Against one of their top fighters. Big pay if you win. Big risk, too.”
Tempo hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the screen. The opponent’s name was blacked out, replaced by a silhouette labeled "Elite Combatant". The payout was enough to make anyone’s head spin, but the stakes were clear.
“Why me?” Tempo asked, his voice wary.
The man shrugged, his nervous smile faltering. “Word is, you’re fast. The crowd loves fast.” He paused, lowering his voice. “Just... be careful. The big fights aren’t always what they seem.”
Tempo clenched his fists, his thoughts flashing to the conduits, the energy, the shadowy figure watching from above. It all felt like pieces of a larger puzzle, and this fight might be his chance to see the bigger picture.
“I’m in,” he said, handing the tablet back.
The man nodded, but his nervous smile didn’t return. “Good luck,” he said before leaving. The door creaked shut, leaving Tempo alone with his thoughts.
He glanced at his reflection in a nearby metal panel. Sweat dripped down his face, and his eyes were heavy with exhaustion. For a moment, doubt crept in. Why am I doing this? To prove myself to them? Or to me? His hand trembled briefly before he clenched his fists, steeling himself.
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Earlier that day...
Greg lounged on a worn couch in his apartment, his eyes half-closed as he struggled to stay awake. It wasn’t laziness this time—it was something deeper. Ever since the factory mission, his dreams had grown vivid and strange. The faces of the Syndicate’s victims haunted him, and the energy pulsing from the conduits had followed him into his sleep.
Every time he closed his eyes, he saw flashes of something—a shadowed figure laughing coldly, conduits glowing brighter and brighter until the light swallowed everything. The oppressive hum of energy seemed to echo in his ears, even after waking.
Cora’s voice buzzed through the communicator on the coffee table. “Greg, we’ve got a lead.”
Stolen novel; please report.
He groaned, rubbing his temples before leaning forward to grab the device. “A lead? On what?”
“The battleground,” Cora said. Her tone was clipped, efficient, but there was a hint of something else beneath it—urgency, maybe even worry.
Greg frowned. “That underground fight club Tempo was asking about?”
“Yes. He’s there,” Cora replied. “And he’s been fighting.”
Greg sat up straighter, the fatigue momentarily forgotten. “Fighting? What do you mean he’s—”
“He’s in over his head,” Cora interrupted, her voice tightening. “I started tracking him when he disappeared two days ago. Found his name on a roster for some fight arena. This place isn’t just for sport, Greg. It’s connected to the Syndicate. I don’t know how deep yet, but we need to stop him before it’s too late.”
Greg stared at the communicator, conflicted. The factory mission had left him drained, and the thought of another confrontation made his stomach churn. But the image of Tempo, young and reckless, walking into a trap was enough to spur him to action.
“Alright,” he said, grabbing his jacket. “Let’s go.”
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Back at the battleground...
The arena’s main event was a spectacle. Neon lights painted the space in garish colors, the hum of the conduits blending with the roar of the crowd to create an almost suffocating energy.
Tempo stood in the fighter’s entrance tunnel, his nerves threatening to unravel as he peered into the chaos beyond. The heat of the arena pressed against his skin, and the smell of oil, sweat, and burned metal lingered in the air.
“Focus,” he whispered to himself, shaking off the ache in his body.
But his thoughts betrayed him. His mind flashed to memories of his father, to the lessons he’d learned from watching the man who had once been a pillar of justice. Tempo clenched his fists, his father’s words echoing in his head: "You have to protect people, even when it’s hard. Even when it costs you."
The announcer’s voice boomed over the speakers, cutting through the noise. “Ladies and gentlemen, prepare yourselves for tonight’s main event! In one corner, the rising star, the blur of the battleground... ACE!”
The crowd erupted into cheers, their chants of his alias echoing off the walls. Tempo stepped into the arena, his eyes scanning the neon-lit chaos. The crowd seemed endless, a sea of faces screaming for blood, victory, and spectacle.
“You got this, Ace!” someone hollered.
“Take him down!” another voice shouted.
Tempo took a deep breath, steadying himself. His gaze shifted downward, lingering on the conduits beneath the floor. Their glow was faint but constant, pulsing like a heartbeat. He had seen them flare during his previous fight, but no one else seemed to notice—or care.
A faint laugh crackled through the intercom, cutting through the cheers. Tempo froze, the sound sending a chill down his spine.
Above, a shadowy figure leaned casually against the railing of a high alcove. They were barely visible in the neon glare, but the faint glint of a silver earring caught the light. The figure tilted their head slightly, as if studying him, before retreating into the shadows.
“Energy levels are stable,” a distorted voice murmured through the intercom. Tempo’s stomach churned as he glanced at the conduits, now glowing brighter beneath the arena floor.
The announcer continued, oblivious. “And in the opposite corner, a legend of the arena, a true force of nature—THE EXECUTIONER!”
The opposite gate rumbled open, and a hulking figure stepped into the light. Their body was a patchwork of flesh and machinery, with glowing red eyes that seemed to pierce through Tempo. Their left arm was a jagged blade, their right a metallic fist that looked capable of punching through steel.
“That’s the Executioner!” someone screamed from the crowd. “No one’s lasted five minutes against him!”
Tempo’s heart thudded in his chest, a tremor of fear flashing through his body. What did I just sign up for?
The conduits beneath the floor pulsed brighter, their hum growing louder. Tempo clenched his fists, his heart pounding.
What is this place?
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To Be Continued